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Melodies and Madrigals; 



FROM THE OLD ENGLISH POETS. 



EDITED BY 



RICHARD HENRY STODDARD. 



Melodious birds sing madrigals." 

Marlowe . 



NEW YORK: 
BUNCE AND HUNTINGTON, PUBLISHERS. 

M DCCC LXVI. 



H\ii7 



.w 



i 



Entered according to Aft of Congress, in the year 1865, 

By Bunce and Huntington, 

In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States for the Southern 
Distria of New York. 



ALVORD, PRINTER. 



PREFJCE. 



>TpHE object which I had in view while collecting the 
materials of this volume was, to present the English 
Poets in their most poetical moods ; not as the makers of 
long, sustained poems, which most of them are not, but 
as the singers of short, sweet, unpremeditated lyrics. I 
use the word Lyric rather than Song, because it best de- 
scribes the selections which follow, and because I take it 
to be a purer, as it certainly was an earlier, manifestation 
of the element which underlies the Song. Songs, as we 
understand them, are of comparatively recent growth. 
There are no songs, modernly speaking, in Shakespeare 
and the Elizabethan dramatists, but lyrics in abundance. 
The difference between these lyrics and our songs :s 
manifest : the one being a simple, unstudied expression of 
thought, sentiment, or passion ; the other its expression 
according to the mode of the day. The lyrist sang to 
a tune within him : 



("Heard melodies are sweet, but those unheard 
Are sweeter; therefore, ye soft p : pes, play on!") 



The song-writer composes with a strict regard to conven- 
tional rhythms and metres, counting his verses on his 
fingers, uid remembering the lessons of his music-teacher. 
The thought, the sentiment of the former depends upon 
ths whim of the moment ; that of the latter, upon the 
thesis which he intends to prove. Reason predominates 
in the one, Imagination in the other. 

The early periods Oi English Poetry are rich in the 
Lyrical-element — almost as rich as in the Dramatic, with 
which it frequently flourished — springing from its excessive 
vitality^ like the myriad wild-flowers which light up the 
depths of tangled woods. "The little lyrics," says Barry 
Cornwall, c ' which are scattered, like stars, over the sur- 
face of our old dramas, are sometimes minute, trifling, and 
undefined in their object , but they are often eminently 
fine ; in faff, the finest things of the kind which our lan- 
guage possesses. There is more inspiration, more air and 
lyrical quality about them, than in songs of ten times 
their pretension. And this, perhaps, arises from the dra- 
matic faculty of the writers ; who, being accustomed, in 
other things, to shape their verse so as to suit the char- 
acters and different purposes of the drama, naturally extend 
this care to the fashion of the songs themselves. In cases 
where a writer speaks in his own person, he expends all 
his egotism upon his lyrics ; and requires that a critic 
should be near to curtail his misdeeds. When he writes 



as a dramatist, he is, or ought to be, the critic himself. 
He is not, so to speak, at all implicated in what is going 
forward in the poem ; but deals out the dialogue like an 
indifFerent bystander, seeking only to adjust it to the 
necessities of the aftors. He is above the struggle and 
turmoil of the battle below, and 

* Sees, as from a tower, the end of all,* 

It is, in fail, this power of forgetting himself, and of im- 
agining and fashioning characters different from his own, 
which constitutes the dramatic quality. A man who can 
set aside his own idiosyncrasy, is half a dramatist.'* 

The lyrics of what we rather loosely call the Eliza- 
bethan Poets, — a classification which frequently embraces 
their successors in the reign of James the First, — are, it 
seems to me, the finest specimens of poetry, "pure and 
simple," in the whole range of English Literature. Their 
chief characteristic is naturalness, — real or apparent, it is 
not easy, in all cases, to decide which. What we call Art 
(which is often. but another name for artifice), appears 
never to have crossed the minds of their singers, at least 
while they were singing ; to listen to them is like listening 
to the song of the lark. 

The poets of Charles the First's time — accomplished, 
courtly gentlemen that they were — delighted in the Lyric, 
which, however, had begun to lose its early simplicity : it 



was graceful, it was elegant, but it w r as studied, mannered, 

affected. 

u The hour 

Of glory in the grass, of freshness in the flower," 

had passed away. What it was in the reign of Charles 
the Second, and later, the reader may see for himself, in 
the specimens of that period which I have given, and 
which are the best that I could find, indifferent as, I fear, 
many of them are. 

The Eighteenth Century was almost destitute of Lyrics, 
though it abounded in what were by courtesy called Songs, 
most of which appear to have been composed by that 
celebrated Myth, " A Person of Quality," and his, or her, 
immediate connections — 

" The mob of gentlemen who wrote with ease." 

Peace to their ashes ! I could not find it in my heart 
to disturb them, entombed as they are in the ponderous 
collections of Johnson, Anderson, and Chalmers. Barren 
as the last century was in poetry of a high order, its close 
witnessed the revival of the Lyrical-element, which may be 
traced, I think, to two causes, — the publication of Bishop 
Percy's " Reliques of Ancient English Poetry" and the 
songs of Burns — a born poet, if there ever was one, who 
ruled as supremely over his "scanty plot of ground" as 
Shakespeare over his Universe. 



What the lyrics of the present time are, the reader 
may be supposed to know. They will not compare with 
those of the Sixteenth and Seventeenth Centuries, but 
they are genuine, as far as they go. The best of them, 
to my thinking, are Barry Cornwall's — a venerable name, 
which must soon pass from amongst us. 

The arrangement adopted here is that which should 
always obtain in works of this nature, viz., the chrono- 
logical one. The lyrics of each poet are placed in the 
order in which they were written, so far as I could ascer- 
tain it, and the whole in strict succession of time. Where 
several are taken from one poet, as in the case of 
Shakespeare and Fletcher, the date of the earliest deter- 
mines his place in the century. Shakespeare, for instance, 
is placed in the year 1592, the date assigned by Dyce to 
"Love's Labour's Lost;" and Fletcher in 1610, the 
date of the publication of his "Faithful Shepherdess" 
Where an author's works were not published until after 
his death, the lyric, or lyrics, selected therefrom, are, of 
course, placed before his death. In such cases one can 
only approximate to correct chronology : certainty is im- 
possible. The student of English Poetry will detect, in 
most cases, the reasons which have influenced me in assign- 
ing the conjectural dates. Had I made the collection 
for him alone, I would have added annotations of all sorts, 
which, by-the-way, I could hardly restrain myself from 



doing. But, working for the general reader, who seldom 
cares for the laborious trifles of the scholar, however curi- 
ous they may be, I have let the poets speak for themselves, 
without note or comment from me. The text is as pure 
as I could make it. I dare not flatter myself, however, 
that it is absolutely pure, so much have the old poets been 
tampered with by those who have edited them, and those 
who have quoted from them. In the matter of spelling, 
punctuation, etc., I have conformed to the usage of to-day, 
not being able to see the sacredness of the old style of 
typography, — the phonographic spelling of the author, 
the whims of his printers, and the blunders of the press 

generally. 

R. H. S. 

New York, November i, 1865. 



CONTENTS. 



• PAG 3 

An Earneft Suit Sir Thomas Wyatt i 

A Praise of his Love Henry Howard (Earl of Surrey) 2 

A Sonnet John Harington 4 

A Ditty Sir Philip Sidney 5 

Of his Cynthia Fulke Greville [Lord Brooke) 5 

Song J 0HN Lyly 7 

Song John Lyly 7 

Song J 0HN Lyly S 

Madrigal Mus.'CA Transalpina 9 

Madrigal Music a Transalpina 9 

The Herdsman's Happy Life Byrd's Songs 10 

Rosalindas Madrigal Thomas Lodge i i 

The Silent Lover Sir Walter Raleigh 13 

Phillida and Cory don Nicholas Breton 15 

A Paftoral of Phillis and Cory don Nicholas Breton i 6 

Song George Peele 17 

The Pajfionate Shepherd to his Love Christopher Marlowe 17 

A Dirge Thomas Nash 19 

Song Thomas Nash 21 

Philomela's Ode Robert Greene 21 

" On a day, [alack the day!)" William Shakespeare 23 

"Over hill, over dale" William Shakespeare 23 

Song William Shakespeare :} 

Song William Shakespeare 25 



pa.;: 



Song William Shakespeare 25 

Song William Shakespeare 2,6 

Song William Shaklspeare 2^ 

Song William Shakespeare 2S 

Song William Shakespeare 2g 

Song William Shakespeare 29 

Song William Shakespeare 29 

Song William Shakespeare 30 

Song William Shakespeare 30 

Song J 0HN Donne 31 

Aladrigal Wilbye's Madrigals 33 

Madrigal Wilbye's Madrigals 33 

Madrigal Wilbye's Madrigals 34 

Madrigal ! Wilbye's Madrigals 34 

Madrigal Wilbye's Madrigals 3 5 

Spring-Sorg Weel „es' s Ballals 3 5 

An Ode R.cha.-.d Barnef.eld 36 

Song Thomas Dekker 38 

To the Spring S;r John Davies 39 

The Coy Maiden's Consent Farmer's English Madrigals 40 

The Flight of Phillis Farmer's English Madrigals 40 

Darnclus" Song Henry Constable 41 

The Nymphs, meeting, etc Thomas Watson 42 

False Dorus Morley's Madrigals 43 

Invocation to Night Dovvland's Book of Songs 43 

To Cynthia Dowland's Book of Songs 44 

His Lady's Grief Dovvland's Book of Songs 43 

Madrigal Weelkes's Madrigals 46 

Madrigal Weelkes's Madrigals 47 

Of Corinna's Singing Thomas Campion 47 

Madrigal Thomas Campion 48 

A Song Davison's Poetical Rhapsody 49 



■ . ■ -■- 



Ode Davison's Poetical Rhapsody 50 

Madrigal Davison's Poetical Rhapsody 51 

Madrigal Weelkes's Madrigals 51 

There is a Garden Allison's Hour's Recreation in Music 53 

Song..... Sir Robert Ayton 53 

Madrigal Bateson's Madrigals 54 

Song Thomas H eywood 54 

Madrigal Weelkes's Airs 5 5 

Song Ben Jonson 56 

To Celia Ben Jonson 56 

To Celia Ben Jonson 57 

The Triumph of Chan's Ben Jonson 53 

The booing Song of Panglory Giles Fletcher 59 

Song .' John Fletcher 61 

Song John Fletcher 61 

Song John Fletcher 62, 

Song J OHN Fletcher 63 

Song J 0HN Fletcher 63 

Song John Fletcher 64 

Madrigal Pilkington's Madrigals 65 

" Shall I, wafting in despair?' 1 '' George Wither 65 

" Call for the robin redbreaji and the •wren" J OHN Webster 67 

"Hark, now every thing is JIM" J 0HN Webster 67 

"All the flowers of the Spring" John Webster 68 

Madrigal Ward's Madrigals 69 

The Characlcr of a Happy Life Sir Henry Wotton 69 

On his Mijiress, the ^ucen of Bohemia Sir Henry Wotton 70 

The Indifferent ...' Francis Beaumont 71 

Madrigal William Drummond 72 

A Kiss William Drummond 73 

Def red Death William Drummond 73 

To Sleep William Drummond 74 



PAGE 

"Shall I tell you ivhom I love?" William Browne 74 

Song William Browne 75 

Sonv Samuel Daniel 76 

Song Samuel Daniel 77 

Song Nathaniel Field 78 

The Crier Michael Drayton 78 

Song William Herbert (Earl of Pembroke) 79 

Song Leonard Digges 80 

Song Maxkham and Sampson 81 

Song Thomas Goffe 82 

Song Robert Gomersall 82 

A Song, for the Mufic Leclure Robert Gomersall 83 

Song Thomas Randolph 84 

Song Philip Massinger 85 

Virtue George Herbert 85 

Disdain Returned Thomas Carew 86 

Song Thomas Carew 87 

Song Thomas Carew 88 

Song John Ford 88 

Dirge Joh n Ford 8 ) 

Song Samuel Rowley 90 

To Roses in the Bosom cf Cafara William Habington 90 

Upon Cajlara's Departure William Habington 91 

Song J oh n Milton 92 

Song John Milton 93 

Song Henry Killigrew 94 

Song Sir John Suckling 95 

Song JSir John Suckling 96 

Of a Miftresi Thomas Nabbes 97 

Song Henry Glapthorne 97 

Out of the Italian Richard Crashaw 98 

Dirge Sicily and Naples : a Tragedy 100 



I'Ai'.I 



To Cynthia Sir Francis Kinaston ioi 

Song Sir John Denham 103 

To Althea. From Prison Richard Lovelace 103 

Song Richard Lovelace 105 

A ValediBion William Cartwright 105 

On a Girdle Edmund Waller 106 

Go, Lovely Rose Edmund Waller 107 

The Pajjing-Bcll James Shirley 108 

Song James Shirley ic8 

Song. — Celia in Love, Martin Lluellin 109 

Honour Abraham Cowley i 10 

Cherry-ripe Robert Herrick hi 

To Meadows Robert Herrick: 112 

To Primroses filed with Morning Dew Robert Herrick 113 

To Daffodils Robert Herrick 114 

To Bloffoms Robert Herrick 115 

To Virgins, to make much of Time Robert Herrick 116 

The Night-piece, to Julia Robert Herrick 117 

To the Weftern Wind Robert Herrick 118 

To the Water-Nymphs Robert Herrick 118 

To Eleclra Robert Herrick 119 

Song Thomas May 119 

The Retreat Henry Vaughan 120 

The Shower Henry Vaughan 121 

Song Robert Cox 121 

The Exequies Thomas Stanley 123 

Love Once, Love Ever Sir Edward Sherburne 124 

Song Robert Baron 125 

The Angler's Wift Izaak Walton 125 

AmintoSs Well-a-Day H. Hughes 127 

To Amanda, leaving him alone N. Hookes 128 

Song Sir Richard Fanshaw 129 

xiii 



PAGE 



Song Richard Flecknoe 230 

On Ch/oris walking in the Snoiv Wit's Recreations 130 

Song Henry King (Bijhop of Chichefier) 131 

Fairy Song Mysteries of Love and Eloquence 132 

Song Thomas Ford 134 

To the Inconjlant Cynthia Sir Robert Howard 135 

Song PHILON AX LoVEKIN I 3 6 

Song Sir George Etherege 136 

The Resolve Alexander Brome 137 

On Claret Alexander Brome 138 

Song , Sir William Davenant 139 

Song Sir William Davenant 140 

To Chloris Charles Cotton 141 

Song Sir Charles Sedley 142 

Song S r Charles Sedley 143 

Out of Lye of hr on Sir Charles Sedley 143 

Song The Academy of Compliments 144 

Lovers Bravo Thomas Flatman 145 

Song Sir Francis Fane 146 

Uncertain Love Thomas Duffett 146 

The Mower to the Gloiu-ivorms Andrew Marvell 147 

Love and Life John Wilmot [Earl of Roc hejler) 148 

Song J 0HN Sheffield [Duke of Buckingham) 149 

Song Robert Gould 149 

An Incantation John Dryden I 50 

Ode on Solitude Alexander Pope 151 

Song Mathew Prior 152 

Dirge in Cymbeline William Collins 153 

A Bacchanalian Thomas Chatterton 154 

A Red, Red Rose Robert Burns 154 

Song Samuel Taylor Coleridge 155 

Choral Song Samuel Taylor Coleridge 156 

xiv 



PAOK 

Song Thomas Moore 156 

" Nightingale ! thou surely art" William Wordsworth 157 

To the Lady Anne Hamilton Hon. William Robert Spencer 158 

Song Sir Walter Scott 159 

'« Wafted, weary, wherefore ftay ". Sir Walter Scott 159 

She Walks in Beauty Lord Byron 160 

Song John Keats 161 

A Fragment John Keats 162 

Song Percy Bysshe Shelley 163 

Love's Philosophy Percy Bysshe Shelley 163 

Song Percy Bysshe Shelley 164 

Song to May Lord Thurlow 166 

Song to the Evening Star Thomas Campbeil 167 

Song Thomas Lovell Beddoes 168 

Dirge Thomas Lovell Beddoes 169 

A Sono- Thomas Lovell Beddoes 170 

Ballad Thomas Hood 171 

Ballad Thomas Hood 172 

Nephons Song George Darley 172 

A Serenade George Darley 174 

" Siveet in her green dell the flower " etc George Darley 175 

The Cavalier's Song William Motherwell 176 

Song Hartley Coleridge 177 

Song Henry Taylor 177 

The Blackbird James Montgomery 178 

A Phantasy Bryan Waller Procter 179 

The Farewell of the Soldier Bryan Waller Procter 180 

A Bridal Dirge Bryan Waller Procter 181 

A Bacchanalian Song Bryan Waller Procter 182 

Song Robert Browning 183 

Song Robert Browning 184 

Song Robert Browning 184 



The Loft Miftress Robert Browning 185 

Rondeau Leigh Hunt 185 

Cupid Sivalloived Leigh Hunt 186 

Song "Walter Savage Landor 186 

Song Walter Savage Landor 187 

Song Walter Savage Landor 187 

Song Walter Savage Landor 188 

The Age of Wisdom William Makepeace Thackeray 189 

Song Charles Kingslev 190 

Song Charles Kingsley 191 

" Thy -voice is heard," etc Alfred Tennyson 191 

"As through the land at eve ivc tvent'''' Alfred Tennyson 192 

" Siveet and lotv, siveet and loiv" Alfred Tennyson 192 

" Come not token I am dead" Alfred Tennyson 193 

The Sentences Coventry Patmore 193 

The Revelation Coventry Patmore 194 



E D M UN D C LARENC E S T E D M A N, 



POET, SCHOLAR, GENTLEMAN 



WITH THE LOVE OF HIS FRIEND 



R H. S. 



The courts of kings hear no such (trains 
As daily lull the ruflic swains." 



England's Helicon. 



M 1 would rather than forty fhillings I had my book of songs 
and sonnets here." 

Merry Wives of Windsor. 



• Mark it, Cesario ; it is old and plain : 
The spinfters and the knitters in the sun, 
And the free maids, that weave their thread with bones, 
Do use to chant it ; it is filly sooth, 
And dallies with the innocence of love, 
Like the old age." 

Twelfth Night. 



u They were old-fafhioned poetry, but choicely good, I think 
much better than the ftrong lines that are now in fafhion in this 
critical age." 

Ixaat Walton. 



Melodies and Madrigals 



AN EARNEST SUIT 

TO HIS UNKIND MISTRESS NOT T~0 FORSAKE HIM. 

jri ND ivilt thou leave me thus ? 
Say nay, say nay, for jha?ne I 
To save thee from the blame 
Of all my grief and grame. 
And nvilt thou leave me thus ? 
Say nay, say nay ! 



And -ivilt thou leave me thus? 
That hath loved thee so long, 
In vjealth and vjoe among? 
And is thy heart so ftrong 
As for to leave me thus ? 
Say nay, say nay I 



III. 

And wilt thou leave me thus? 
That hath given thee my heart, 
Never for to depart ; 
Neither for pain nor smart : 
And nvilt thou leave me thus? 
Say nay, say nay ! 



And vjilt thou leave me thus? 
And have no more pity 
Of him that loveth thee? 
Alas, thy cruelty I 
And wilt thou leave me thus? 
Say nay, say nay! 

Sir Thomas Wyatt. 



A PRAISE OF HIS LOVE, 

WHEREIN HE REPROTETH THEM THAT COMPARE THEIR 

LADIES WITH HIS. 

[1535?] 



Give place, ye lovers, here before 

That spent your boa/Is and brags in vain ; 

My lady's beauty paffeth more 

The bejl of yours, I dare well sayen, 

Than doth the sun the candle light, 

Or brightejl day the darkeji night. 



And thereto Jiath a troth as juft 
As had Penelope the fair ; 
For what (he saith, ye may it truft, 
As it by writing sealed were: 
And virtues hath /he many mo 
Than I with pen have /kill to Jhonv. 



I could rehearse, if that I would, 
The whole effecl of Nature 's plaint, 
When fhe had loft the perfecl mould 
The like to 'whom fhe could not paint : 
With wringing hands, how fhe did cry, 
And what Jhe said, I know it, aye. 



I know fhe swore with raging mind, 
Her kingdom only set apart, 
There was no loss by law of kind 
That could have gone so near her heart, 
And this was chiefly all her pain : 
" She could not make the like again." 



Sith Nature thus gave her the praise, 
To be the chief eft work Jhe wrought : 
In faith, methink, some better ways 
On your behalf might well be sought, 
Than to compare, as ye have done, 
To match the candle with the sun. 

Henry Howard, Earl of Surrey. 



A SONNET. 

MADE ON ISABELLA MARKHAM, WHEN I FIRST THOUGHT HER 
FAIR, AS SHE STOOD AT THE PRINCESS'S WINDOW IN GOOD- 
LY ATTIRE, AND TALKED TO DIVERS IN THE COURT-YARD. 

[1564.] 
I. 

JV HENCE comes ?ny love? O heart, disclose! 
' Twas from cheeks that Jhamed the rose : 
From lips that spoil the ruby's praise; 
From eyes that ??iock the diamonds blaze. 
Whgnce comes ?ny woe as freely own ; 
Ah, yne ! 'twas from a heart like (lone. 



The blnjhi?ig cheek speaks modejl mind, 
The lips befitting words mo/l kind; 
The eye does tempt to love's defire, 
And seems to say, 'tis Cupid's fire : 
Yet all so fair but speak my moan, 
Sith naught doth say the heart of jlone. 



Why thus, my love, so kind bespeak 
Sweet lip, sweet eye, sweet blujhing cheek, 
Vet not a heart to save my pain ? 
O Venus, take thy gifts again! 
Make not so fair to cause our moan, 
Or make a heart that's like our own. 

John Harington 



a ditty. 

[i 5 8o?j 

1. 

Mr true love hath my heart, and I have his, 
By ju/l exchange one for another given ; 

/ hold his dear, and ?nine he cannot miss; 
There never was a better bargain driven. 
My true love hath my heart, and I have his. 



His heart in ?ne keeps him and ?ne in one; 

My heart in him his thoughts and senses guides : 
He loves my heart, for once it voas his o-zvu ; 
/ cheri/h his, because in ?ne it bides. 

My true love hath my heart, and I have his. 

Sir Philip Sidney. 



OF HIS CYNTHIA. 

[1580?] 
1. 

AlVAY vjith these self-loving lads, 
IVhom Cupid' 's arrovj never glads; 
Avjay, poor souls, that Jigh and vueep, 
In love of them that lie and fleep : 
For Cupid is a merry god, 
And forceth none to kiss the rod. 



Sweet Cupid's /hafts, like dejliny, 

Do causeless good or ill decree: 

Desert is borne out of his bow, 

Reward upon his wing doth go. 

What fools are they that have not known 
That love likes no laws but his own ! 



My songs they be of Cynthia's praise, 
I wear her rings on holy-days; 
On every tree I write her ?iame, 
And every day I read the same. 

Where Honour Cupid^s rival is, 
There miracles are seen of his. 



If Cynthia crave her ring of me, 
I blot her name out of the tree. 
If doubt do darken things held dear, 
Then well-fare nothing once a year. 
For many run, but one mu/l win, 
Fools only hedge the cuckoo in. 



The worth that worthiness Jhould move, 

Is love, which is the due of love ; 

And love as well the Jhepherd can, 

As can the mighty nobleman. 

Sweet nymph, "'tis true, you worthy be, 
Yet without love, naught worth to me. 

Fulke Greville, Lord Brooke. 



SONG. 

[1584.] 

Cupid and my Campaspe played 

At cards for kisses, Cupid paid ; 

He /lakes his quiver, bow, and arrows, 

His mother s doves, and team of sparrows ; 

Loses them too ; then down he throws 

The coral of his lip, the rose 

Growing ons cheek, {but none knows how) 

With these the cryftal of his brow, 

And then the dimple of his chin ; 

All these did my Campaspe win. 

At la/l he set her both his eyes ; 

She won, and Cupid blind did rise. 

O Love ! has (he done this to thee ? 

What /hall, alas ! become of me P 

John Lyly. 



SONG. 

[1584.] 
What bird so Jings, yet so does wail ? 
O "tis the ravijhed nightingale. 
" J u g> J u g> J u g> J u g> term? jhe cries, 
And /lill her woes at midnight rise. 
Brave prick song! who is't now we hear? 
None but the lark so /brill and clear; 
Now at heaven s gates /he claps her wings, 
The morn not waking till Jhe Jings. 



Hark, hark, nvith <vohat a pretty t/iroat 
Poor robin redbreafl tunes his note; 
Hark, how the jolly cuckoos Jing, 
Cuckoo, to ^welcome in the Spring! 
Cuckoo, to welcome in the Spring ! 

John Lyly 



SONG. 



[159*.] 



Pan's Syrinx was a girl indeed, 
Though no-iv /he's turned into a reed] 
From that dear reed Pan's pipe does come, 
A pipe that Jlrikes Apollo dumb j 
Nor flute, nor lute, nor gittern can 
So chant it as the pipe of Pan. 
Crojf-gartered swains and dairy girls, 
With faces smug and round as pearls, 
When Pans Jhrill pipe begins to play, 
With dancing wear out night and day ; 
The bagpipe's drone his hum lays by, 
When Pan sounds up his min/lrelsy. 
His minfirelsy, O base! This quill, 
Which at my mouth with wind I fill, 
Puts me in mind, though her I miss, 
That jiill my Syrinx' lips I kiss. 

John Lyly. 






MADRIGAL. 

[1588.] 

Sleep, jleep, mine only jewel, 
Much more thou do/l delight me, 

Than my beloved, too cruel, 
That hid her face to spite me. 

Thou bring /I her home full nigh me, 
While jhe so fajl did fly me. 
By thy means I behold those eyes so Jhining, 
Long time absented, that now look appeased; 

Thus is my grief declining : 
Thou in my dreams do/l make dejire well pleased. 
Sleep, if thou be like death, as thou art feigned, 
A happy life by such a death were gained. 

Musica Trans alpina. 



MADRIGAL. 

[1588.] 

Like as from heaven the dew full softly /hoovering, 
Doth fill and so refrejh both fields and closes, 

Filling the parched flowers with sap and savour ; 
So while Jhe bathed the violets and roses, 
Upon her lovely cheeks so frejhly flowering, 

The Spring renewed his force with her sweet favour. 

Musica Transalpina. 



THE HERDSMAN'S HAPPY LIFE. 

[1588.] 

Jl'iiAT pleasure have great princes, 
More dainty to their choice, 

Then herdsmen woild i -ivho, careless, 
In quiet life rejoice, 

And fortune's fate not fearing, 

Sing s-zveet jn summer morning P 

Their dealings, plain and rightful, 

Are --void of all deceit ; 
They never kno c w koiv spiteful 

It is to kneel and -wait, 
On favourite presumptuous, 
Whose pride is -vain and sumptuous. 

All day their flocks each tendeth, 
At night they take their reft, 

More quiet than -zvho sendeth 
His /hip into the EafI, 

Where gold and pearl are plenty, 

But getting -very dainty. 

For la-tvyers and their pleading 
They '/leem it not a ftra-zv ,• 

They think that hone/l meaning 
Is of itself a la-zv ; 

Where conscience judgeth plainly, 

They spend no mo?iey -vainly 



O happy who thus liueth ! 

Not caring much for gold ; 
With clothing which sufficeth 

To keep him from the cold : 
Though poor and plain his diet, 
Yet merry it is, and quiet. 

Byrd's Songs. 



ROSALIND'S MADRIGAL 

[1590.] 



Love in my bosom like a bee 

Doth suck his sweet j 
Now with his wings he plays with me, 

Now with his feet. 
Within mine eyes he makes his nejl, 
His bed amid/l my tender brea/l ; 
My kijfes are his daily fea/l, 
And yet he robs me of ?ny reft. 

Ah, wanton, will ye ? 



And if I fleep, then percheth he 

With pretty flight, 
And makes his pillow of my knee, 

The live-long night. 



Strike I my lute, he tunes the firing 
He mufic plays if I do Jing ; 
He lends me every lovely thing: 
Yet cruel he my heart doth /ling. 
Whiji, wanton, Jlill ye ! 



Else I nvith roses every day 

Will whip you hence ; 
And bind you when you long to play, 

For your offence. 
Til Jhut mine eyes to keep you in, 
Til make you fajl it for your fin, 
Til count your power not worth a pin 
Alas, what hereby /hall I win, 

If he gainsay me ? 



What if I beat the wanton boy, 

With many a rod? 
He will repay me with annoy, 

Because a god. 
Then ft thou safely on my knee, 
And let thy bower my bosom be: 
Lurk in ?nine eyes, I like of thee. 
O Cupid! so thou pity me, 

Spare not, but play thee! 

Thomas Lodge. 



THE SILENT LOVER. 

[1590 ?] 
1. 

Passions are likened beft to floods and jlreams -, 
The Jhallow ?nurmur, but the deep are dumb : 

So, when affetlions yield discourse, it seems 
The bottom is but /hallow whence they come. 

They that are rich in words, in words discover 

That they are poor in that which makes a louver 



Wrong not, sweet empress of my heart, 

The merit of true paflion, 
With thinking that he feels no smart, 

That sues for no compajfwn : 



Since, if my plaints serve ?iot to approve 

The conquejl of thy beauty, 
It comes not from defetl of love, 

But from excess of duty : 



For, knowing that I sue to serve 
A saint of such perfection, 

As all dejire, but none deserve, 
A place in her affection, 



/ rather choose to want relief, 
Than venture the revealing; 

Where glory recommends the grief, 
Despair dijlrujis the healing. 



Thus those defires that ai?n too high 

For any mortal lover, 
IV hen reason camiot make t)ie?n die, 

Discretion doth them cover. 



Yet, when discretion doth bereave 
The plaints that they Jhould utter, 

Then thy discretion may perceive 
That Jilence is a suitor 



Silence in love bewrays more vsoe 
Than words, though ne"er so witty ; 

The beggar that is dumb, you know, 
May challenge double pity ! 



Then wrong not, dearejl to my heart, 

My true, though secret pajfwn ; 
He smarteth moll that hides his smart, 

And sues for no companion. 

S:r Walter Raleigh. 



PHIL LI DA AND CORY DON. 

[1591.] 
Ix the merry ?nontJi of May, 
In a morn by break of Jay, 
With a troop of damsels playing, 
Forth I yode forsooth a maying. 
When anon by a woodfide, 
Where that May was in his pride, 
I espied all alone 
Phillida and Corydon. 
Much ado there was, God wot, 
He would love, and Jhe would not ; 
She said, never man was true; 
He says, none was false to you. 
He said, he had loved her long ; 
She says, love Jhould have no wrong. 
Corydon would kiss her then ; 
She says, ??iaids mujl kiss no men, 
Till they do for good and all : 
When Jhe made the fhepherd call 
All the heavens to witness truth, 
Never loved a truer youth. 
Then with many a pretty oath, 
Tea and nay, and faith and troth, 
Such as filly Jhepherds use, 
When they will not love abuse, 
Love, that had been long deluded, 
Was with kiffes sweet concluded; 
And Phillida, with garlands gay, 
Was made the Lady of the May. 

Nicholas Breton. 



A PASTORAL OF PHILLIS AND CORYDON. 

[ 1600.1 

On a hill there grows a flower, 
Fair befall the dainty sweet: 

By that flower there is a bower 
Where the heavenly Muses meet. 

In that bower there is a chair, 
Fringed all about with gold, 

Where doth fit the fairefk fair 
That ever eye did yet behold. 

It is Phillis, fair and bright, 
She that is the Jhepherd"s joy : 

She that Venus did despite, 
And did blind her little boy. 

This is Jhe, the wise, the rich, 
That the world defires to see: 

This is ipsa qua, the which 
There is none but only Jhe. 

Who would not this face admire ? 

Who would not this saint adore? 
Who would not this fight defire, 

Though he thought to see no more? 

O fair eyes ! yet let me see 

One good look, and I am gone. 

Look 07i me, for I am he, 
Thy poor filly Cory don. 



Thou that art the jhepherd's queen. 

Look upon thy filly swain ; 
By thy comfort have been seen 

Dead men brought to life again. 

Nicholas Brkton. 



SONG. 

WHAT thing is love? for sure love is a thing; 

Love is a prick, love is a fling, 

Love is a pretty, pretty thing, 

Love is a fire, love is a coal, 

Whose flame creeps in at every hole; 

And, as myself can befl devise, 

His dvoelling is in ladies* eyes, 

From vohence he flioots his dainty darts 

Into the lufly gallants" hearts : 

And ever flnce nvas called a god 

That Mars and Venus played even and odd. 

George Peele. 



THE PASSIONATE SHEPHERD TO HIS LOVE. 

[159*?] 
I. 
Come live vjith me, and be my love, 
And voe nvill all the pleasures prove, 
That valleys, groves, hills, and fields, 
Woods, or fleepy mountains yields. 



And we n.v ill fit upon the rocks, 
Seeing the Jhepherds feed their flocks, 
By Jhalloiv rivers, to whose falls 
Melodious birds fing madrigals. 



And I -zv ill ?nakc thee beds of roses, 
And a thousand fragrant pojies, 
A cap of flowers, and a kirtle 
Embroidered all with leaves of myrtle 



A gown made of the finejl wool, 
Which from our pretty lambs we pull ; 
Fair-lined flippers for the cold, 
With buckles of the pureft gold. 



A belt of Jlraw and ivy-buds, 
With coral clasps and amber Jluds. 
And if these pleasures may thee ?novc, 
Come live with me, and be my love. 



The jhepherd swains /ball dance and jing 
For thy delight each May-morning. 
If these delights thy mind may move, 
Then live with me, and be my love. 

Christopher Marlowe. 



A DIRGE. 



Adieu ; farewell earth" s bliss, 
'This world uncertain is: 
Fond are life's luflful joys, 
Death proves them all but toys. 
None from his darts can fly : 
I am Jick, I mujl die. 

Lord, have mercy on us'. 



Rich men, trujl not in wealth ; 
Gold cannot buy you health ; 
Phyfic himself mujl fade ; 
All things to end are made; 
The plague full swift goes by : 
I am Jick, I mujl die. 

Lord, have mercy on us! 



Beauty is but a flower, 
Which wrinkles will devour: 
Brightness falls from the air ; 
Queens have died young and fah 
Dujl hath closed Helens eye: 
I am Jick, I mujl die. 

Lord, have mercy on us! 



Strength (loops unto the grave < 
Worms feed on Heclor brave. 
Swords may not fight with fate 
Earth ftill holds ope her gate. 
Come, come, the hells do cry ,• 
/ am Jick, I mujl die. 

Lord, have mercy on us ! 



Wit with his wantonness 
Ta/leth death's bitterness. 
Hell's executioner 
Hath no ears for to hear 
What vain art can reply, 
I am Jick, I mujl die. 

Lord, have mercy on us! 



Hajle therefore each degree 
To welcome dejliny : 
Heaven is our heritage, 
Earth but a players Jlage. 
Mount we unto the jky ; 
I am Jick, I mujl die. 

Lord, have mercy on us! 

Thomas Nash. 



SONG. 

[1592.] 
Spring, the sweet Spring, is the years pleasant King 
Then blooms each thing, then maids dance in a ring; 
Cold doth not fting, the pretty birds do fing, 
Cuckoo, jug, jug, pit we, to nvitta woo. 

The palm and May make country houses gay, 
Lambs frijk and play, the jhepherds pipe all day, 
And we hear aye birds tune this merry lay, 
Cuckoo, jug, jug, pu we, to ivitta woo. 

The fields breathe sweet, the daifies kiss our feet, 
Young lovers meet, old wives a sunning fit, 
In every Jlreet these tunes our ears do greet, 
Cuckoo, jug, jug, pu we, to witta woo. 
Spring, the sweet Spring. 

Thomas Nash. 



PHILOMELA'S ODE 

THAT SHE SUNG IN HER ARBOUR 
[I59a.] 

Sitting by a river's fide, 
Where a filent jlream did glide, 
Muse I did of many things, 
That the mind in quiet brings. 
I "gan think how some men deem 
Gold their god; and some ejleem 



Honour is the chief content 
That to man in life is lent. 
And some others do contend, 
Quiet none, like to a friend. 
Others hold, there is no wealth 
Compared to a perfetl health. 
Some mans mind in quiet /lands, 
When he is lord of many lands : 
But I did figh, and said all this 
Was but a /bade of perfetl bliss; 
A?id in my thoughts I did approuc, 
Naught so sweet as is true hue. 
Loue ^twixt lovers paJJ'eth these, 
When mouth ki/Jeth, and heart Agrees, 
With folded arms and lips meeting, 
Each soul another sweetly greeting; 
For by the breath the soul fleet eth, 
And soul with soul in kijjing meeteth. 
If loue be so sweet a thing, 
That such happy bliss doth bring, 
Happy is loue^s sugared thrall, 
But unhappy maidens all, 
Who efleem your 'virgin blij/es 
Sweeter than a wife^s sweet kijfes. 
No such quiet to the ?nind, 
As true loue with kijfes kind: 
But if a kiss proue unchafle, 
Then is true loue quite disgraced. 
Though loue be sweet, learn this of me, 
No sweet loue but honejly. 

Robert Greene. 



ON a day, [alack the day!) 
Love, whose month is ever May, 
Spied a blojfom, pafiing fair, 
Playing in the wanton air: 
Through the velvet leaves the wind, 
All unseen, "gan pqfage find ; 
That the lover, fick to death, 
Wijhed himself the heaven s breath. 
Air, quoth he, thy cheeks may blow, 
Air, vjould I might triumph sol 
But, alack, my hand is s-ivorn 
Ne'er to pluck thee from thy thorn : 
Vovj, alack, for youth unmeet ; 
Youth, so apt to pluck a sweet. 
Do not call it fin in me, 
That I am forsworn for thee : 
Thou for whom Jove would swear 
Juno but an Ethiope were; 
And deny himself for Jove, 
Turning mortal for thy love. 

William Shakespeare. 



I 1 594-] 
Over hill, over dale, 

Thorough bujh, thorough brier, 
Over park, over pale, 

Thorough flood, thorough fire, 



/ do wander everywhere, 

Swifter than the moon's sphere: 

And I serve the fairy queen. 

To dew her orbs upon the green. 

The cow/lips tall her penfioners be; 

In their gold coats spots you see, 

Those be rubies, fairy favours, 

In those freckles live their savours. 
I must go seek some dew-drops here, 
And hang a pearl in every cow/lip's ear. 

William Shakespeare. 



SONG. 

[1597.] 



Tell me where is fancy bred, 
Or in the heart, or in the head? 
How begot, how nourijhed? 
Reply, reply. 

It is engendered in the eyes, 
With gazing fed : and fancy dies 
In the cradle where it lies: 
Let us all ring fancy s knell ; 
ril begin it, — Ding, dong, bell. 
Ding, dong, bell. 

William Shakespeare. 



SONG. 

[*599- J 
Under the greenwood tree, 
Who loves to lie with me, 
And tune his merry note 
Unto the sweet bird^s throat, 
Come hither, come hither, come hither: 
Here he jlmll see 
No enemy 
But winter and rough weather. 

Who doth ambition Jhun, 
And loves to live i the sun, 
Seeking the food he eats, 
And pleased with what he gets, 
Come hither, come hither, come hither: 
Here he /hall see 
No enemy 
But winter and rough weather. 

William Shakespeare. 



SONG. 

[I599-] 
Bloiv, blow, thou winter wind, 
Thou art not so unkind 

As mans ingratitude; 
Thy tooth is not so keen, 
Because thou art not seen, 

Although thy breath be rude. 



Heigh ho ! Jing, heigh ho ! unto the green holly : 
Mojl friendjhip is feigning, mojl loving mere folly : 

Then, heigh ho ! the holly ! 

This life is mojl jolly. 

Freeze, freeze, thou bitter Jky, 
Thou dojl not bite so nigh 

As benefits forgot : 
Though thou the waters warp, 
Thy fling is not so Jharp 

As friend remembered not. 
Heigh hot Jing, heigh hoi unto the green holly: 
Mofl friendjhip is feigning, mojl loving mere folly : 
Then, heigh ho ! the holly ! 
This life is mofl jolly. 

William Shakespeare. 



SONG. 

[1600.] 

Sigh no more, ladies, figh no more, 

Men were deceivers ever-, 
One foot in sea, and one on Jbore, 
To one thing conflant never: 
Then figJi not so, 
But let them go, 
And be you blithe and bonny : 
Converting all your sounds of woe 
Into, Hey nonny, nonny. 



Sing no more ditties, fing no mo 

Of dumps so dull and heavy ; 
The fraud of men was ever so, 
Since summer firfl was leavy. 
Then figh not so, 
But let them go, 
And be you blithe and bonny : 
Converting all your sounds of woe 
Into, Hey nonny, nonny. 

William Shakespeare. 



SONG. 

[1601.] 

O MTSTRESS mine, where are you roaming? 
O, ftay and hear; your true love's coming, 

That can fing both high and low : 
Trip no further, pretty sweeting ; 
Journeys end in lovers" meeting, 

Every wise mans son doth know. 

What is love? 'tis not hereafter; 
Present mirth hath present laughter; 

Whafs to come is flill unsure: 
In delay there lies no plenty; 
Then come kiss me, sweet-and-twenty, 

Youth 'j a fluff will not endure. 

William Shakespeare. 



SONG. 

[1601.] 
Come away, come away, death. 
And in sad cypress let me be laid: 

Fly away, fly away, breath ; 
/ am Jlain by a fair cruel maid. 
My Jhroud of white, (luck all with yew, 

O, prepare it! 
My part of death, no one so true 
Did /hare it. 

Not a flower, not a flower sweet, 
On my black coffin let there be jlrown; 

Not a friend, not a friend greet 
My poor corpse, ivhere my bones /hall be thrown : 
A thousand thousand fighs to save, 

Lay me, O where 
Sad true lover never find my grave, 
To weep there I 

William Shakespeare. 



SONG. 

[i6oj.] 
Take, oh I take those lips away, 

That so sweetly were forsworn : 
And those eyes, the break of day, 

Lights that do mi/lead the morn: 
B%t my kiffes bring again, 

Bring again, 
Seals of love, but sealed in vain, 

Sealed in vain. 
William Shakespeare. 



SONG. 

[1609.] 

Hark! hark! the lark at heavens gate fings, 

And Phaebus "gins arise, 
His fleed to water at those springs 

On chaliced flowers that lies : 
And winking Mary-buds begin 

To ope their golden eyes-, 
With every thing that pretty bin: 

My lady sweet, arise. 
Arise, arise. 

William Shakespeare. 



SONG. 

[I6«L] 

Full fathom Jive thy father lies : 

Of his bones are coral made ; 
Those are pearls that were his eyes: 

Nothing of him that doth fade, 
But doth suffer a sea-change 
Into something rich and jlrange. 
Sea-nymphs hourly ring his knell: 
Hark! novo I hear them, — ding, dong, bell. 

William Shakespeare. 



SONG. 

[1612.] 

Come unto these yellow sands, 

And then take hands: 
Courtfied when you have, and kijfed, 

[The wild waves whift) 
Foot it featly here and there, 
And, sweet sprites, the burden bear. 
Hark, hark 1 . 

Bowgh, wowgh. 
The watch-dogs bark: 

Bowgh, wowgh. 
Hark, hark! I hear 
The Jlrain of Jlrutting chanticleer 
Cry, Cock-a-doodle-do. 

William Shakespeare. 



SONG. 

[1612.] 

Where the bee sucks, there suck I; 

In a cow/lip's bell I lie: 

There I couch when owls do cry: 

On the bat's back I do fiy 

After summer, merrily: 

Merrily, merrily, Jhall I live now, 

Under the bloffom that hangs on the bough. 

William Shakespeare. 



SONG. 

[1598?] 



Sweetest love, I do not go, 

For weariness of thee, 
Nor in hope the world can Jhow 

A fitter love for me ; 

But fine e that I 
At the laft muft part, 'tis beji 
Thus to use myself in jejl 

By feigned deaths to die. 



Yeflernight the sun went hence, 

And yet is here to-day: 
He hath no defire nor sense, 

Nor half so Jhort a way : 

Then fear not me, 
But believe that I Jhall make 
Speedier journeys, fince I take 

More wings and spurs than 



he. 



O how} feeble is mans power, 
That, if good fortune fall, 

Cannot add another hour, 
Nor a lofl hour recall! 



But come bad chance, 
And ive join to it our flrength, 
And <we teach it art and length, 

Itself o'er us to advance. 



When thou figh 'ft thou figh 'ft no wind, 

But figh 'ft my soul away : 
When thou nveep'ft, unkindly kind, 

My life's blood doth decay. 

It cannot be 
That thou lov'ft me, as thou say' ft, 
If in thine my life thou ivafle, 

That art the bejl of me. 



Let not thy divining heart 

Forethink me any ill: 
Deftiny may take thy part, 

And may thy fears fulfil : 

But think that we 
Are but turned afide to Jleep 
They, who one another keep 

Alive, ne'er parted be. 



John Donne. 



MADRIGAL. 

[i 59 8.] 

Lady, your words do spite me, 

Yet your sweet lips so soft kiss and delight me; 

Your deeds my heart surcharged with overjoying, 

Your taunts my life dejlroying; 

Since both have force to kill me, 

Let kifes sweet, sweet kill me! 

Knights fight with swords and lances, 

Fight you with smiling glances; 

So, like swans of Meander, 

My ghofl from hence /ball wander, 

Singing and dying, Jinging and dying. 

Wilbye's Madrigals. 



MADRIGAL, 

[1598.] 



Lady, when I behold the roses sprouting, 

Which clad in damafk mantles deck the arbours, 

And then behold your lips, where sweet love harbours, 

My eyes present me with a double doubting; 

For viewing both alike, hardly my mind supposes, 

Whether the roses be your lips, or your lips the roses. 

Wilbye's Madrigals. 



MADRIGAL. 

[1598.] 

Love me not for comely grace, 

For my pleafing eye or face ; 

Not for any outward part, 

No, nor for my conjlant heart ; 

For these may fail, or turn to ill, 

A?id thus we love /ball sever : 

Keep, therefore, a true woman s eye, 

And love me fill, 

Yet know not why; 

So hajl thou the same reason fill, 

To dote upon me ever. 

Wilbye's Madrigals. 



MADRIGAL 

[1598.J 



There is a jewel which ?io Indian mine can buy, 

No chemic art can counterfeit; 

It ?nakes men rich in greatejl poverty, 

Makes water wine, turns wooden cups to gold, 

The homely whiflle to sweet mufic"s Jlrain ; 

Seldom it comes, to few from heaven sent, 

That much in little, all in naught — Content. 

Wilbye's Madrigals. 
34 



MADRIGAL. 

[1598.] 
Change me, O Heaven ! into the ruby jlone 
That on my love's fair locks doth hang in gold, 
Yet leave me speech to her to make my moan, 
And give me eyes her beauty to behold : 
Or if you vjill not make my flefh a (lone, 
Make her hard heart seem flejh, that now is none. 

Wilbye's Madrigals. 



SPRING-SONG. 

[1598.] 
1. 

In pride of May 
The fields are gay, 

The birds do s-iveetly fing ; 
So Nature vjould 
That all things Jhould 

With joy begin the Spring. 



Then, lady dear, 

Do you appear, 
In beauty like the Spring; 

I dare ivell say, 

The birds that day, 
More cheerfully vjill fing. 

Weelkes's Ballads and Madrigals. 



AN ODE. 

[1598.] 

As it fell upon a day, 

In the merry month of May, 

Sitting in a pleasant /hade, 

Which a grove of myrtles made, 

Beafis did leap, and birds did fing, 

'Trees did grow, and plants did spring, 

Every thing did bani/h moan, 

Save the nightingale alone : 

She, poor bird, as all forlorn, 

Leaned her breafl up-till a thorn, 

And there sang the dolefulT/l ditty, 

That to hear it vjas great pity. 

Fie, fie, fie, novo Jhe would cry, 

Tern, teru, by and by ; 

That to hear her so complain, 

Scarce I could from tears refrain ; 

For her griefs, so lively Jhovsn, 

Made me think upon mine own. 

Ah ! thought I, thou mourn "/} i:i vain ; 

None take pity on thy pain ,• 

Senseless trees, they cannot hear thee, 

Ruthless bears, they will not cheer thee ; 

King Pandion, he is dead; 

All thy friends are lapped i;i lead ; 

All thy fellow-birds do fing, 

Careless of thy sorrowing. 

Even so, poor bird, like thee, 

None alive vjill pity me. 



Whiljl as fickle Fortune smiled. 

Thou and I were both beguiled, 

Every one that flatters thee, 

Is no friend of ?nisery. 

Words are easy, like the wind; 

Faithful friends are hard to find. 

Every ma?i will be thy friend, 

When thou hajl wherewith to spend: 

But if fore of crowns be scant, 

No man nvill supply thy want. 

If that one be prodigal, 

Bountiful they nvill him call; 

And with such-like flattering, 

" Pity but he were a king.'''' 

If he ' be addicl to vice, 

Quickly him they nvill entice.: 

If to women he be bent, 

They have him at commandement ; 

But if Fortune once do frown, 

Then farewell his great renown : 

They that fawned on him before, 

Use his company no more. 

He that is thy friend indeed, 

He nvill help thee in thy need; 

If thou sorrow, he nvill weep, 

If thou wake, he cannot jleep : 

Thus of every grief i?i heart 

He with thee doth bear a part. 

These are certain fgns to know 

Faithful friend from flattering foe. 

Richard Barnefield. 



SONG, 

[i 599-1 



ART thou poor, yet haft thou golden Jlumbers? 

O sweet content! 
Art thou rich, yet is thy mind perplexed ? 

O punifhmentl 
Doll thou laugh to see how fools are vexed 
To add to golden numbers, golden numbers? 
O sweet content! O sweet, O sweet content! 
Work apace, apace, apace, apace, 
Honeft labour bears a lovely face ; 
Then hey nonny, nonny, hey nonny, nonny ! 



Canft drink the waters of the crisped spring ? 

O sweet content! 
Swimmft thou in wealth, yet fink ft in thine own tears? 

O punijhment ! 
Then he that patiently wanfs burden bears 
No burden bears, but is a king, a king! 
O sweet content! O sweet, O sweet content! 
Work apace, apace, apace, apace, 
Honeft labour bears a lovely face : 
Then hey nonny , nonny, hey nonny, nonny! 

Thomas Dekkzr. 



TO THE SPRING. 

[i 599-] 



Earth now is green, and heaven is blue, 
Lively Spring, which makes all new, 
Jolly Spring doth enter; 
Sweet young sunbeams do subdue 
Angry, aged Winter. 



Bla/ls are mild, and seas are calm, 
Every meadow flows with balm, 
The Earth wears all her riches : 
Harmonious birds fing such a psalm 
As ear and heart bewitches. 



Reserve, sweet Spring, this nymph of ours, 

Eternal garlands of thy flowers, 

Green garlands, never wafting; 

In her /hall laft our Staters fair spring, 

No-iv and forever flourifhing, 

As long as heaven is lafling. 

Sir John Davies. 



THE CGI' MAIDEN'S CONSENT. 

[i 599-] 
I. 

O sTsi}% sweet love, see here the place of sporting, 
These gentle flowers smile sweetly to invite us ; 

And chirping birds are hitherwards resorting, 
Warbling sweet notes only to delight us. 

Then flay, dear love, for though thou run from me, 

Run ne'er so faji, yet I will follow thee. 



I thought, my love, that I Jbould overtake you ,• 
Sweet heart, Jit down under this Jhadowed tree, 

And I will promise never to forsake you, 
So you will grant to me a lover s fee. 

Whereat fhe smiled, and kindly to me said, 

I never meant to live and die a maid. 

Farmer's English Madrigals. 



THE FLIGHT OF PHILLIS. 

[I599-] 
Fair Phillis I saw fitting all alone, 

Feeding her flock near to the ?nountain fide ; 
The fhepherds knew not whither fhe was gone, 

But after her her lover, Amyntas, hied. 
He wandered up and down whilfl fhe was miffing 
When he found her, then they fell a-kiffing. 

Farmer's English Madrigal?. 



4' 



DAMELUS" SONG TO HIS DIAPHENIA. 

[1600.] 



Diaphenia, like the daffadowndilly, 
White as the sun, fair as the lily, 

Heigh ho, how I do love thee! 
I do love thee as my lambs 
Are beloved of their dams ,• 

How blejl were I if thou nvouldji prove me I 



Diaphenia, like the spreading roses, 
'That in thy sweets all sweets encloses, 

Fair sweet, how I do love thee! 
I do love thee as each fower 
Loves the sun's life-giving power ; 

For dead, thy breath to life /night move me. 



Diaphenia, like to all things bleffed, 
When all thy praises are expreffed, 

Dear joy, how I do love thee! 
As the birds do love the Spring, 
Or the bees their careful king; 

Then in requite, sweet virgin, love me! 

Henry Constable. 



THE NYMPHS, 

MEETING THEIR MAT QUEEN, ENTERTAIN HER IflTH THIS 
DITTY. 

[1600.] 

I. 
With fragrant flowers we strew the way, 
And make this our chief holy-day. 
For though this clime were blejl of yore, 
Yet <zvas it never proud before. 

O beauteous queen of second Troy, 

Accept of our unfeigned joy. 



Now tti air is sweeter than sweet balm, 
And satyrs dance about the palm ; 
Now Earth with verdure newly dight 
Gives perfeSi signs of her delight. 

O beauteous queen of second Troy, 
Accept of our unfeigned joy. 



Now birds record new harmony, 
And trees do whijlle melody ; 
Novo every thing that Nature breeds, 
Doth clad itself in pleasant weeds. 

O beauteous queen of second Troy, 

Accept of our unfeigned joy. 

Thomas Watson. 



FALSE DORUS. 

[1600.J 

In de-vu of roses /ieeping 
Her lovely cheeks, Lycoris sat weeping: 
Ah, Dorus false I thou haft my heart bereft me, 
And no-TV, unkind, haft left me. 
Hear, alas I O hear me I 

Ay me I ay me! 
Cannot my beauty move thee? 
Pity, then, pity me, 
Because I love thee. 
Ay me ! thou scorn ft the more I pray thee, 
And this thou doft to (lay me. 
Ah, do, then, do, kill me and vaunt thee; 
Yet my ghoft ftill Jhall haunt thee. 

Morley's Madrigals. 



INVOCATION TO NIGHT. 

[1600.] 



Come, you heavy ftates of night, 
Do my father s spirit right. 
Soundings baleful let me -borrow, 
Burthening my song with sorrow. 
Come, sorrow, come ; her eyes that fings 
By thee are turned into springs. 



Come, you virgins of the night, 
That in dirges sad delight, 
Quire my anthems ; I do borrow 
Gold nor pearl, but sounds of sorrow. 
Come, sorrow, come ; her eyes that Jings 
By thee are turned into springs. 

Dowland's Book of Songs. 



TO CYNTHIA. 

[1600.] 



Mr thoughts are winged with hopes, my hopes with love, 
Mount, love, unto the moon in clearejl flight, 

And say, as /he doth in the heavens move, 
In earth so wanes and waxes my delight. 

And whisper this, but softly in her ears, 

Hope oft doth hang the head, and truji jhed tears. 



And you, my thoughts, that some miftrujl do carry, 
If for mi/lrujl my mi/lress you do blame, 

Say, though you alter, yet you do not vary, 
As /he doth change, and yet remain the same. 

Di/iruji doth enter hearts, but not infecl, 

And love is sweetejl seasoned with suspecl. 



If Jhe for this with clouds do mafk her eyes, 
And make the heavens dark with her disdain, 

With windy Jighs disperse them in the Jkies, 
Or with thy tears diffolve them into rain. 

Thoughts, hopes, and love return to me no more, 

Till Cynthia Jhine as Jhe hath done before. 

Dovvland's Book of Songs. 



HIS LADY'S GRIEF. 

[1600.] 



/ saw my lady weep, 

And sorrow proud to be advanced so 
In those fair eyes, where all perfedions keep. 

Her face was full of woe, 
But such a woe, believe me, as wins more hearts, 
Then mirth can do with her enticing parts. 



Sorrow was there made fair, 

And pajjion wise, tears a delightful thing, 
Silence beyond all speech a wisdom rare; 

She made her fighs to fmg, 
And all things with so sweet a sadness move, 
As made my heart at once both grieve and love. 



Of fairer than aught else 

The world can Jhow, leave off in time to grieve 
Enough, enough, your joyful look excels : 

Tears kill the heart, believe. 
O, Jlri-ue not to be excellent in woe, 
Which only breeds your beauties'' overthrow. 

Dowland's Book of Songs. 



MADRIGAL 

[1600.] 



Why are you, ladies, faying, 
And your lords gone a-Maying : 
Run apace and meet them, 
And with your garlands greet them 
1 Twere pity they Jhould miss you, 
For they will sweetly kiss you. 



Hark, hark, I hear the dancing, 
And a nimble morris prancing; 
The bagpipe and the morris bells, 
That they are not far hence us tells : 
Come, let us all go thither, 
And dance like friends together. 

Weelkes's Madrigal; 



MADRIGAL. 

[1600.] 

Cold winter s ice is fled and gone, 

And summer hangs on every tree ,• 

The redbreajl peeps amidji the throng 

Of wood-born birds that wanton be : 
Each one forgets what they have been, 
And so doth Phillis, summers queen. 

Weelkes's Madrigals. 



OF CORINNA'S SINGING. 

[1602.] 
1. 
When to her lute Corinna fings, 
Her voice revives the leaden firings. 
And doth in highejl notes appear, 
As any challenged echo clear: 
But when Jhe doth of mourning speak, 
Even with her Jighs the jirings do break. 



And as her lute doth live or die, 

Led by her pajjions, so muji I: 

For when of pleasure jhe doth Jing, 

My thoughts enjoy a sudden spring: 

But if jhe do of sorrow speak, 

Even from my heart the firings do break. 

Thomas Campion, 



MADRIGAL. 

[1602.] 



Give Beauty all her right, 

She^s not to one form tied j 
Each Jhape yields fair delight, 
Where her perfeclions bide: 
Helen, I grant, might pleafing be, 
And Rosamond was as sweet as // 



Some the quick eye commends, 

Some snivelling lips, and red; 
Pale looks have many friends, 
Through sacred sweetness bred. 
Meadows have flowers that pleasure mo<ve, 
Though roses are the flowers of love. 



True Beauty is not bound 
To one unmoved clime: 
She viflts every ground, 
And favours every time. 
Let the old loves with mine compare, 
My sovereign is as sweet and fair. 

Thomas Campion. 
4 S 



A SONG. 

IN PRAISE OF A BEGGAR'S LIFE. 

[1602.] 

Bright Jhines the sun, play, beggars, play, 
Here's scraps enough to serve to-day. 

What noise of -viols is so sweet 

As when our merry clappers ring? 

What mirth doth want where beggars meet ? 
A beggar s life is for a king : 

Eat, drink, and play ; Jleep when we lift, 

Go where we will, so flocks be miffed. 
Bright Jhines the sun, play, beggars, play, 
Here's scraps enough to serve to-day. 

The world is ours, and ours alone, 
For we alone have worlds at will: 

We purchase not, 'tis all our own, 

Both fields and jlreets we beggars Jill : 

Nor care to get, nor fear to keep, 

Did ever break a beggar s Jleep. 

Bright Jhines the sun, play, beggars, play, 
Here's scraps enough to serve to-day. 

A hundred head of black and white 
Upon our gowns securely feed ; 

If any dares his majler bite, 

He dies therefor, as sure as creed. 
49 d 



Thus beggars lord it as they please ; 

And only beggars live at ease. 

Bright Jhines the sun, play, beggars, play, 
Here^s scraps enough to serve to-day. 

Davison's Poetical Rhapsody. 



ODE. 

PETITION TO HAVE HER LEAVE TO DIE. 

[1602.J 

JVhen will the fountain of my tears be dry? 

When will my fighs be spent ? 
When will defire agree to let me die? 
When will thy heart relent ? 
It is not for my life I plead, 
Since death the way to reji doth lead; 
But fay for thy consent, 
Lejl thou be discontent. 

For if myself without thy leave I kill, 

My ghojl <will never reft; 
So hath it siuorn to work thine only will, 
And holds that ever bejl. 
For Jince it only lives by thee, 
Good reason thou the ruler be: 
Then give me leave to die, 
And /bow thy power thereby. 

Davison's Poetical Rhapsody. 



t 

MADRIGAL. 

[1602.] 

Mr love in her attire doth fhovo her voit, 

It doth so well become her; 
For every season fhe hath drejjings Jit, 

For winter, spring, and summer. 

No beauty fhe doth miss, 

When all her robes are on : 

For Beauty s self /he is 

When all her robes are gone. 

Davison's Poetical Rhapsody. 



MADRIGAL. 

[1604.] 

Hold out, my heart, with joy's delights ac cloyed -, 
Hold out, my heart, and fhovo it, 
That all the world may know it, 

What sweet content thou lately hafl enjoyed. 

She that, Come, dear, would say, 

Then laugh, a?id smile, and run away, 

And if I Jlayed her would cry, Nay, 
Fie, for fhame, fie ! 

My true love not regarding, 

Hath given me at length his full rewarding : 



•So that unless I tell 

The joys that overfill me, 
My joys, kept in full well, 

I know will kill me. 

Weelkes's Madrigals. 



THERE IS A GARDEN IN HER FACE. 

[1606.] 

There is a garden in her face, 
Where roses and white lilies blow, 

A heavenly paradise is that place, 
Wherein all pleasant fruits do grow. 

There cherries grow that none may buy, 

Till cherry-ripe themselves do cry. 

Those cherries fairly do enclose 

Of orient pearl a double row), 
Which when her lovely laughter /hows, 

They look like rose-buds filled with snow : 
Yet them nor peer nor prince may buy, 
Till cherry-ripe themselves do cry. 

Her eyes like angels watch them fill; 

Her brows like bended bows do Jland, 
Threatening with piercing frowns to kill 

All that approach with eye or hand 
Those sacred cherries to come nigh, 
Till cherry-ripe themselves do cry. 

Allison's Hour's Recreation in Music. 



SONG. 

[1606?] 

I do confess thourt smooth and fair, 

And I might have gone near to love thee. 

Had I not found the Jlightefl prayer 

That lips could speak had power to move thee : 

But I can let thee now alone. 

As worthy to be loved by none. 

I do confess thoiirt sweet, yet find 
Thee such an unthrift of thy svjeets y 

Thy favours are but like the wind, 
That kijfes every thing it meets ; 

And Jince thou canjl with more than one, 

Thourt worthy to be kijfed by none. 

The ?norning rose, that untouched (lands, 

Armed with her briers, how svoeetly smells 1 

But plucked and flrained through ruder hands, 
Her sweets no longer with her dwells; 

But scent and beauty both are gone, 

And leaves fall from her one by one. 

Such fate, ere long, vjill thee betide, 
When thou hajl handled been awhile, 

Like sere Jlowers to be thrown afide : 
And I will Jigh, while some will smile, 

To see thy love for more than one 

Hath brought thee to be loved by none. 

Sir Robert Ayton. 



MADRIGAL. 

[1606.] 

Whither so fafi ? Ah, see the kindly flowers 
Perfume the air, and all to make thee flay : 

The climbing woodbine, clipping all these bowers, 
Clips thee likewise, for fear thou pass away : 
Fortune, our friend, our foe, will not gainsay : 

Stay but awhile, Phcebe no tell-tale is: 

She her Endymion — Fll my Phoebe kiss. 

Bateson's Madrigals. 



SONG. 

[1607.] 



Pack clouds away, and welcome day, 

With flight we banijh sorrow;; 
Sweet air, blow) soft, mount, lark, aloft, 

To give my love good-morrow. 
Wings from the wind to please her mind, 

Notes from the lark Fll borrow ; 
Bird, prune thy wing, nightingale, fing, 

To give my love good-morrow. 
To give my love good-?norrow, 
Notes from them both Fll borrow;. 



Wake from thy nejl, robin redbreajl, 

Sing, birds, in every furrow ; 
And from each hill let mujic Jhrill 
Give my fair love good-morrow. 
Blackbird, and thrufi), in every bujh, 

Stare, linnet, and cock-sparrow, 
You pretty elves, amongft yourselves, 
Sing my fair love good-morrovo. 
To give my love good-morrow, 
Sing, birds, in every furrow. 

Thomas Heywood. 



MADRIGAL. 

[1608.] 

Upon a hill the bonny boy, 

Sweet Thirjis, sweetly played, 
And called his lambs their majlers joy ; 

And more he would have said, 
But love that gives the lover s wings, 
Withdrew his mind from other things. 

His pipe and he could not agree, 

For Milla was his note: 
The filly pipe could never get 

This lovely name by rote: 
With that they both fell on a sound, 
He fell ajleep, his pipe to ground. 

Weelkes's Airs. 



SONG. 

[1609.] 

STILL to be neat, fill to be drejl, 

As you were going to a feaji ; 

Still to be powdered, fill perfumed; 

Lady, it is to be presumed, 

Though arfs hid causes are not found, 

All is not sweet, all is not sound. 

Give me a look, glue me a face 
That makes fimplicity a grace ; 
Robes loosely flowing, hair as free : 
Such sweet neglecl more taketh me 
Than all the adulteries of art ; 
They ftrike mine eyes, but not my heart. 



Ben Jonson. 



TO CELIA. 

[1616.] 



Drink to me only with thine eyes, 

And I will pledge with mine; 
Or lea-ue a kiss but in the cup, 

And Vll not look for wine. 
The thirjl that from the soul doth rise, 

Doth ajk a drink di-vine; 
But might I of Jo-ue's neclar sup, 

I 'would not change for thine. 



/ sent thee late a rosy wreath, 

Not so much honouring thee, 
As gluing it a hope that there 

It could not withered be. 
But thou thereon didji only breathe, 

And senffl it back to me: 
Since when it grows, and smells, I swear, 

Not of itself, but thee. 

Ben Jons 



TO CELIA, 
[1616.J 



>~uer 



Kiss me, sweet; the wary lo~. 

Can your favours keep, and cover, 

When the common courting jay 

All your bounties will betray. 

Kiss again ! no creature comes ; 

Kiss, and score up wealthy sums 

On my lips, thus hardly sundered, 

While you breathe. Firfl glue a hundred, 

Then a thousand, then another 

Hundred, then unto the other 

Add a thousand, and so more; 

Till you equal with the fore, 

All the grass that Rumney yields, 

Or the sands in Chelsea fields, 



Or the drops in filver Thames, 
Or the fiars that gild his jlreams, 
In the /dent summer-flights, 
When youths ply their Jiolen delights j 
That the curious ?nay not know) 
How to tell ''em as they flow j 
And the envious, when they find 
What their number is, be pined. 

Ben Jonson. 



THE TRIUMPH OF CHARIS. 

[1616 ?J 

See the chariot at hand here of Love, 

Wherein my lady rideth ! 
Each that draws is a swan or a dove, 

And well the car Love guideth. 
As Jhe goes, all hearts do duty 

Unto her beauty; 
And, enamoured, do wijh, so they might 
But enjoy such a fight, 
That they ftill were to run by her fide, 
Through swords, through seas, whither Jhe would ride. 

Do but look on her eyes, they do light 

All that Lovers world compriseth ! 

Do but look on her hair, it is bright 

As Love's Jlar when it riseth ! 
Do but mark, her forehead's smoother 

Than words that soothe her I 
5S 



And from her arched brows, such a grace 
Sheds itself through the face. 
As alone there triumphs to the life 
All the gain, all the good, of the elements'" Jlrife. 

Have you seen but a bright lily grovj, 
Before rude hands have touched it? 
Have you marked but the fall o' the snovo, 

Before the soil hath smutched it? 
Have you felt the voool of beaver ? 

Or svjans dovjn ever? 
Or have smelt o"" the bud o' the brier ? 

Or the nard in the fire ? 
Or have tafted the bag of the bee ? 
O so vjhite f O so soft ! O so svjeet is /he ! 

Ben Jonson. 



THE WOOING SONG OF PANGLORT. 

[1610.] 

Love is the bloffom vjhere there blovus 
Every thing that lives or gronvs ; 
Love doth make the heavens to move, 
And the sun doth burn in love: 
Love the flrong and vjeak doth yoke, 
And makes the ivy climb the oak, 
Under vjhose fhadovjs lions vuild, 
Softened by love, grovj tame and mild. 
Love no medicine can appease; 
He burns the fijhes in the seas : 



Not all the /kill his wounds can flanch, 

Not all the sea his fire can quench. 

Love did make the bloody spear 

Once a leavy coat to wear, 

While in his leaves there Jhrouded lay 

Sweet birds, for love that Jing and play ; 

And of all Lovers joyful flame 

I the bud and bloffom am. 

Only bend thy knee to me, 

Thy wooing Jhall thy winning be. 

See, see the flowers that below 

Now as frejh as morning blow;, 

And of all, the virgin rose, 

That as bright Aurora fhows ; 

How> they all unleaved die, 

Loflng their virginity: 

Like unto a summer-fhade , 

But now born, and novo they fade. 

Every thing doth pass away; 

There is danger in delay. 

Come, come gather, then, the rose; 

Gather it, or it you lose. 

All the sand of Tagus* /bore 

In my bosom cafts his ore: 

All the valleys* swimming corn 

To my house is yearly borne : 

Every grape of every vine 

Is gladly bruised to make me wine; 

While ten thousand kings, as proud 

To carry up my train, have bowed, 



And a voorld of ladies send me 

In my chambers to attend me: 

All the flars in heaven that Jhine, 

And ten thousand more, are mine. 
Only bend thy knee to me, 
Thy vjooing Jhall thy winning be. 

Giles Fletcher. 



SONG. 

[1610.] 



Do not fear to put thy feet 
Naked in the river, sweet ; 
Think not leech, or nevut, or toad, 
Will bite thy foot, when thou haji trod ; 
Nor let the water rifing high, 
As thou wad 'ft in, make thee cry, 
And sob; but ever live with me, 
And not a wave Jhall trouble thee. 

John Fletcher. 



SONG. 

[1617?] 

Weep no more, nor figh, nor groan, 
Sorrow calls no time thafs gone; 
Violets plucked, the sweetejl rain 
Makes ?iot frejh, nor grow again. 



Trim thy locks, look cheerfully, 
Fate^s hidden ends eyes cannot see; 
Joys as winged dreams fly faft, 
Why Jhould sadness longer lafl? 
Grief is but a voound to vjoe ; 
Gentleft fair, ?nourn, mourn no 7?io. 

John Fletcher. 



SONG. 

[i6z4 ?] 

' Tis late and cold ; ftir up the fire ; 
Sit close, and dravj the table nigher ; 
Be merry, and drink vjine that's old, 
A hearty medicine gain ft a cold: 
Tour beds of wanton down the be (I, 
Where you fib all tumble to your reft; 
I could wifh you wenches too, 
But I am dead, and cannot do. 
Call for the beft the house may ring, 
Sack, white, and claret, let them britig, 
And drink apace, while breath you have; 
You 11 find but cold drink in the grave : 
Plover, partridge for your dinner, 
And a capon for the finner, 
Tou /ball find ready when you re up, 
And your horse /hall have his sup : 
Welcome, welcome, /ball fly round, 
And I fall smile, though under ground. 

John Fletcher. 
6z 



SONG. 
[1624?] 

Take, oh ! take those lips away, 
That so sweetly were forsworn, 

And those eyes, like break of day, 
Lights that do miflead the morn I 

But my kijfes bring again, 

Seals of love, though sealed in vain. 

Hide, oh ! hide those hills of snow, 

Which thy frozen bosom bears, 
On --whose tops the pinks that grow 

Are yet of those that April wears ! 
But firjl set my poor heart free, 
Bound in those icy chains by thee. 

John Fletcher. 



SONG. 

[1624?] 

Drink to-day, a?id drown all sorrow, 
You fhall perhaps not do it to-morrow : 
Beji, awhile you have it, use your breath -, 
There is no drinking after death. 

Wine works the heart up, wakes the wit, 
There is no cure ''gainfl age but it; 
It helps the head-ache, cough, and phthific, 
And is for all diseases phyjic. 
6^ 



Then let us swill, boys, for our health ; 
Who drinks well loves the common-wealth. 
And he that will to bed go sober, 
Falls with the leaf, flill in October. 

John Fletcher. 



SONG. 

[1624?] 

Hence, all you vain delights, 
As fhort as are the nights 
* Wherein you spend your folly ! 

There 's naught in this life sweet, 
If men were wise to see"t, 
But only melancholy ! 
O, sweetefl melancholy! 
Welcome, folded arms, and fixed eyes, 
A figh, that, piercing, mortifies ; 
A look thafs fajlened to the ground, 
A tongue chained up without a sound ! 
Fountain heads, and pathless groves, 
Places which pale PaJJion loves ! 
Moonlight walks, when all the fowls 
Are warmly housed, save bats and owls ! 
A midnight bell, a parting groan, 
These are the sounds we feed upon ; 
Then fir etch our bones in a flill gloomy valley, 
Nothing' 's so dainty sweet as lovely melancholy. 

John Fletchei 
64 



MADRIGAL. 

[i6iz.] 

Have 1 found her? O rich finding ! 

Goddess-like for to behold ; 
Her fair trejfes seemly binding 

In a chain of pearl and gold: 
Chain me, chain me, oh mojl fair, 
Chain ?ne to thee with that hair! 

Pilkington's Madrigals. 



[i6iz.] 

Shall I, wafting in despair, 

Die, because a woman s fair ? 

Or make pale my cheeks with care, 

1 'Cause another s rosy are? 

Be Jhe fairer than the day, 

Or the flowery meads in May, 

If Jhe be not so to me, 

What care I how fair Jhe be ? 

Shall my foolijh heart be pined, 
''Cause I see a woman kind, 
Or a well-disposed nature, 
Joined with a lovely feature ? 
Be Jhe meeker, kinder, than 
Turtle-do-ve or pelican, 



If (he be not so to me, 

What care I how kind Jhe be ? 

Shall a ''woman s virtues move 

Me to perijh for her love ? 

Or her well-deserving known, 

Make ?ne quite forget mine own ? 

Be Jhe with that goodness blejl, 

Which may gain her name of beji, 
If Jhe be not such to me, 
What care I how good Jhe be ? 

' 'Cause her fortune seems too high, 

Shall I play the fool and die ? 

Those that bear a noble mind, 

Where they want of riches find, 

Think what with them they would do, 

That without them dare to woo : 
And unless that mind I see, 
What care I how great Jhe be ? 

Great, or good, or kind, or fair, 

I will ne^er the more despair. 

If (he love me, this believe, 

I will die ere Jhe Jhall grieve : 

If Jhe (light me, when I woo, 

I can scorn, and let her go. 
For if Jhe be not for me, 
What care I for whom (he be P 

George Withir. 





[1612.] 


Call for the robin redbreajl and the vjren, 


Since o'er fhady grooves they hover, 


And voith leaves and flowers do cover 


The friendless bodies of unburied men. 


Call unto his funeral dole 


The ant, the field-mouse, and the mole, 


To rear him hillocks that Jhall keep him warm, 


And [vohen gay tombs are robbed) suflain no harm : 


But keep the vjolf far thence, that's foe to men, 


For vjith his nails he'll dig them up again. 


John Webster 
«~ 


[1616?] 


Hark, novo every thing is jiill; 


The screech-ovol and the vjhiftler Jhrill 


Call upon our dame aloud, 


And bid her quickly don her Jhroud ! 


Much you had of land and rent ; 


Tour length in clay's novj compete?it : 


A long nvar diflurbed your mind; 


Here your perfecl peace is figned. 


Of vohat is 't fools make such vain keeping ? 


Sin their conception, their birth vjeeping, 


Their life a general mijl of error, 


Their death a hideous florm of terror. 


67 



Strew your hair with powders sweet, 

Don clean linen, bathe your feet, 

And {the foul fiend more to check) 

A crucifix let bless your neck : 

""Tis now full tide 'tween night and day, 

End your groan, and come away. 

John Webster. 



[1623.] 



All the flowers of the Spring 

Meet to perfume our burying: 

These have but their growing prime, 

And man does flourijh but his time. 

Survey our progress from our birth ; 

We are set, we grow), we turn, to earth. 

Courts adieu, and all delights, 

All bewitching appetites! 

Sweeteft breath, and clearejl eye, 

Like perfumes, go out and die; 

And consequently this is done 

As Jhadows wait upon the sun. 

Vain the ambition of kings, 

Who seek by trophies and dead things 

To leave a living name behind, 

And weave but nets to catch the wind. 



John Webster. 



MADRIGAL. 

[i6ij?J 

O sat, dear life, when /hall those twin-born berries, 
So lovely ripe, by ?ny rude lips be tajled? 

Shall I not pluck — sweet, say not nay! — those cherries ? 
O let them not with summers heat be blaftedl 

Nature, thou know\ft, beftowed them free on fhee ; 

Then be thou kind, bejhw them free on me. 

Ward's Madrigals. 



THE CHARACTER OF A HAPPY LIFE. 

[1614.] 

How happy is he born and taught, 
That ser-veth not another s will: 
Whose armour is his honeft thought, 
And Jimple truth his utmojl fkill 

Whose paj/ions not his majlers are; 
Whose soul is fill prepared for death, 
Untied unto the world by care 
Of public fame, or private breath. 

Who e?ivies none that chance doth raise, 
Nor vice; who never under/lood 
How deepejl wounds are given by praise; 
Nor rules of State, but rules of good. 



69 



Who hath his life from rumours freed ; 
Whose conscience is his ftrong retreat ; 
Whose fate can neither flatterers feed, 
Nor ruin make oppreffors great. 

Who God doth late and early pray 
More of his Grace than gifts to lend; 
And entertains the harmless day 
With a religious book, or friend. 

This man is freed from servile bands 
Of hope to rise, or fear to fall : 
Lord of himself though not of lands, 
And having nothing, yet hath all. 

Sir Henry Wotton. 



ON HIS MISTRESS, THE i^UEEN OF BOHEMIA. 

[i6zo.] 

You meaner beauties of the night, 
That poorly satisfy our eyes, 

More by your number than your light, 
You common people of the Jkies, 
What are you <ivhen the sun /hall rise ? 

You curious chanters of the ivood, 

That voarble forth Dame Nature 's lays, 

Thinking your pajjions underjlood 

By your weak accents, nuhafs your praise, 
When Philomel her voice Jhall raise ? 



You <vi l e t s that fir ft appear ; 

By your pure purple mantles known, 

Like the proud virgins of the year, 
As if the Spring were all your own, 
What are you when the rose is blown ? 

So, when ?ny miftress fhall be seen, 
In form, and beauty of her mind, 

By virtue firft, then choice, a queen, 
Tell ?ne, if fhe were not defigned 
Th" eclipse and glory of her kind ? 

Sir Henry Wotton. 



THE INDIFFERENT. 

[1615?] 



Never more will I proteft 
To love a woman, but in jeft : 
For as they cannot be true, 
So to give each man his due, 
When the wooing fit is paft, 
Their affeclion cannot loft. 



Therefore if I chance to meet 
With a miftress, fair and sweet, 
She my service fhall obtain, 
Loving her for love again : 



This much liberty I crave, 
Not to be a conftant Jlave. 



But nvken vje have tried each other, 
If /be better like another, 
Let her quickly change for me, 
Then to change am I as free. 
He or fhe that loves too long, 
Sell their freedom for a song. 



Francis Beaumont. 



MADRIGAL. 

[1616.] 

/ FEAR not henceforth death, 
Sith after this departure yet I breathe ; 
Let rocks, and seas, and vjind, 
Their highejl treasons Jhovo : 
Let Jky and earth combined 
Strive, if they can, to end my life and vuoe ,• 
Sith grief cannot, me nothing can overthrow : 
Or if that aught can cause my fatal lot, 
It vjill be vjhen I hear I am forgot. 

William Drummond. 



A KISS. 

[1616.J 
Hark, happy lowers, hark, 
This firjl and lajl of joys, 
This sweetener of annoys, 
This netlar of the gods 
Ye call a kiss, is with itself at odds ; 
And half so sweet is not 
In equal measure got 
At light of sim, as it is in the dark : 
Hark, happy lowers, hark. 

William Drummond. 



DESIRED DEATH. 

[1631 ?] 
Dear life, while I do touch 
These coral ports of bliss, 
Which fill themselves do kiss, 
And sweetly ?ne inwite to do as much, 
All panting in my lips 
My heart my sense doth leawe, 
No sense my senses ha we, 

And inward powers do find a Jlrange eclipse ; 
This death so heawenly well 
Doth so me please, that I 
Would newer lo?iger seek in sense to dwell, 
If that ewen thus I only could but die. 

William Drummond. 



ro SLEEP. 

[i6ji?] 

How comes it, Sleep, that thou 
Even kijfes me affords 

Of her, dear her, so far who \f absent now ? 
How did I hear those words, 

Which rocks might move, and move the pines to bow ? 
Ay me, before half day 
Why didfl thou fteal away ? 
Return, I thine forever will remain, 
If thou wilt bring with thee that gueft again. 

William Drummond. 



[1616.] 

Shall I tell you whom I love ? 

Hearken the?i awhile to me ; 
And if such a woman move, 

As I ?iow /hall verffy, 
Be affured "'tis fhe, or none, 
That I love, and love, alone. 

Nature did her so much right, 
As fhe scorns the help of art ,• 

In as many virtues dight 

As e^er yet embraced a heart : 

So much good, so truly tried, 

Some for less were deified. 



Wit fie hath, without defire 

To make known how) much fije hath j 
And her anger flames no higher 

Than may fitly sweeten wrath. 
Full of pity as ?nay be, 
Though, perhaps, not so for me. 

Reason mafiers every sense, 

And her virtues grace her birth ; 

Lovely as all excellence, 

Modefl in her mofl of mirth : 

Likelihood enough to prove 

Only worth could kindle love. 

Such fi)e is : and if you know 

Such a one as I have sung; 
Be fie brown, or fair, or so, 

That fie be but some-while young ,• 
Be ajfured "'tis fie, or none, 
That I love, and love alone. 

William Browne. 



SONG. 

[1620 ?] 

Steer, hither fleer, your winged pines, 

All beaten mariners j 
Here lie Lovers undiscovered mines, 

A prey to paffengers : 
Perfumes far sweeter than the befl 
Which make the phcenix' urn and nefi. 



Fear not your Jhips, 
Nor any to oppose you, save our lips : 

But come on Jhore, 
Where no joy dies till Love hath gotten more. 

For swelling voaves, our panting breajls, 

Where ?iever Jlorms arise, 
Exchange, and be a-ivhile our guefls ; 

For flars, gaze on our eyes. 
The compass Love /ball hourly fing, 
And, as he goes about the ring, 

We voill not miss 
To tell each point he nameth with a kiss. 

Then come on /bore, 
Where no joy dies till Love hath gotten more. 

William Browne. 



SONG. 

[1617?] 

1. 

Love is a fickness full of vcoes, 

All remedies refufing ; 
A plant that voith mojl cutting groves, 
Moft barren voith beft ujing. 
Why so ? 
More voe enjoy it, ?nore it dies ; 
If not enjoyed, it fighing cries, 
Heigh ho ! 



Love is a torment of the mind, 

A tempeji everlajling : 
And Jove hath ?nade it of a kind, 
Not well, nor full nor fajling. 
Why so? 
More we enjoy it, ?nore it dies; 
If not enjoyed, it fighing cries, 
Heigh ho ! 

Samuel Daniel. 



SONG. 
[1617?] 

Had Sorrow ever fitter place 

To acl his part, 

Than is my heart, 
Where it takes up all the space? 

Where is no vein 

"To entertain 
A thought that wears another face ? 

Nor will I Sorrow ever have 

Therein to be, 

But only thee, 
To vohom I full pofejjion gave: 

Thou in thy name 

Muji hold the same, 
Until thou bring it to the grave. 

Samuel Daniel. 



SONG. 

[1618.J 
1. 

Rise, lady, miftress, rise! 

The night hath tedious been ; 
No Jleep hath fallen into my eyes, 

Nor Jlumbers made me Jin : 
Is not fie a saint then, say, 
Thought of -whom keeps fin away ? 



Rise, madam, rise, and give ?ne light, 

Who?n darkness fill will cover, 
And ignorance, darker than the night, 

Till thou smile on thy lover: 
All want day till thy beauty rise, 
For the gray ?norn breaks from thine eyes. 

Nathaniel Field. 



THE CRIER. 

[1619.] 

Good folk, for gold or hire, 
But help me to a crier, 
For my poor heart is run away, 
After two eyes that pa fed this way. 
O yes, O yes, O yes, 



If there be any man, 

In town or country, can 

Bring me my heart again, 

Vll please him for his pain ; 
And by these marks I will you Jhow 
That only I this heart do owe. 

It is a wounded heart, 

Wherein yet flicks the dart ; 
Every piece sore hurt throughout it, 
Faith and troth writ round about it. 
It was a tame heart, and a dear, 

And never used to roam ; 
But having got this haunt, I fear 

"" Twill hardly flay at home. 
For God's sake, walking by the way, 

If you my heart do see, 
Either impound it for a flray, 

Or send it back to me. 

Michael Drayton. 



SONG. 

[1620?] 



Ladies, fee from Lovers sweet tale; 
Oaths fleeped in tears do oft prevail : 
Grief is infeclious, and the air, 
Inflamed with flghs, will blafl the fair. 
Then flop your ears when lovers cry, 
Lefl yourself weeping with soft eye 
79 



Shall c witk a sorrowing tear repay 
That pity which you cajl away. 



Young men, flee when Beauty darts 
Amorous glances at your hearts : 
A quick eye gives the surer aim, 
And ladies'' lips have power to maim. 
No-zv in her lips, now in her eyes, 
Lapt in a kiss or smile, Love lies; 
Then flee betimes, for only they 
Do conquer Love that run away. 

William Herbert, Earl of Pembroke. 



SONG. 
[1622.J 
STAT, bold thoughts, refrain your will, 
Silent be, and suffer flill. 
What I not speak, if Jhe be by? 
Torment ; if you do, you die : 
Say the flame to rise begin, 
Tears without may quench within. 
Better die in easy pain, 
Suffering, than if not be Jlain. 
Is there then no remedy? 
Silence, then I'll welcome thee I 
And thou, tongue of mine, conceal 
What the heart mufl not reveal. 

Leonard Digges. 



SONG. 

[I6Z2.] 

I. 
Come buy, you lufty gallants, 
"These Jimples ivhich I sell : 
In all our days 'were never seen like these, 

For beauty, jlrength, and smell. 
Here^s the king-cup, the pansy, with the -violet, 
The rose that loves the Jhozver, 
The wholesome gillifo-iver, 
Both the covj/lip, lily, 
And the daffadilly, 
With a thousand in my povjer. 



Here^s golden amaranthus, 

That true love can provoke, 
Of horehound jlore, and poisoning hellebore, 

With the polipode of the oak : 
Here^s chafe vervine, and luflful eringo, 

Health-preserving sage, 

And rue, ivhich cures old age, 

With a nvorld of others, 

Making fruitful mothers ,• 

All these attend me as my page. 

Markham and Sampson. 
81 P 



SONG. 

[1626?] 
Drop golden /bowers, gentle Sleep, 
And all the angels of the night, 
Which do us in protection keep, 
Make this queen dream of delight. 
Morpheus, be kind a little, and be 
Deaths now true image, for ^twill prove 
To this poor queen that thou art he; 
Her grave is made 1 the bed of love. 
Thus with sweet sweets can Heaven mix gall, 
And marriage turn to funeral. 

Thomas Goffe. 



SONG. 
[1628.] 
How I laugh at their fond wijh, 
Whose defire 
Aims no higher 
Than the baits of Midas" dijh ! 

What is gold but yellow dirt, 

Which th" unkind 

Heavens refined, 
When they made us love our hurt ? 

Would to Heaven that I might fieep 

My faint eyes 

In the wise, 
In the gentle dew of Sleep ! 



Whose effeSis do pose us so, 

That we deem 

It does seem 
Both Death" s brother and his foe. 

This does always with us keep, 

And being dead 

That 'j not fled ; 
Death is but a longer Sleep. 

Robert Gomersall. 



A SONG, 

FOR THE MUSIC LECTURE. 
[I633.J 

STRIKE again! O, no, no more, 

I implore; 
Suck another touch would be 

My dejiiny! 
What bewitching sounds are these, 

Which so please, 
As that we begin to fear 

What we hear? 
Sound yet louder! Raise a tone, 

Which to own 
The celeflial quire would be 

Suitors f ye. 
Sound yet louder ! that if Fate 

Make this date 



To my years, I yet may die 

Speedily ; 
And that this ditty, sweetly Jlrong, 
May be my death and funeral song. 

Robert Gomersall. 



SONG 

[1630.] 



We care not for money, riches, or wealth, 
Old Sack is our money, old Sack is our health 
Then let's flock hither, 
Like birds of a feather, 
To drink, to fling, 
To laugh,' to fing, 
Conferring our notes together, 
Conferring our notes together. 



Come, let us laugh, let us drink, let us Jing, 
The Winter with us is as good as the Spring: 
We care not a feather 
For wind, or for weather, 
But night and day 
We sport and play, 
Conferring our notes together, 
Conferring our notes together. 

Thomas Randolph. 



SONG. 

[1631.] 

Why art thou flow, thou refl of trouble ■, Death, 

To flop a wretctis breath, 
That calls on thee, and offers her sad heart 

A prey unto thy dart ? 
I am not young, nor fair ; be, therefore, bold : 

Sorrow hath made me old, 
Deformed, and wrinkled; all that I can crave 

Is quiet in my grave. 
Such as live happy, hold long life a jewel; 

But to me thou art cruel, 
If thou end not my tedious misery, 

And I soon cease to be. 
Strike, and flrike home, then ; pity unto me, 
In one Jhort hours delay, is tyranny. 

Philip Massinger. 



VIRTUE. 
[1631 ?] 
Sweet day, so cool, so calm, so bright, 
The bridal of the earth and fly ; 
The dew Jhall weep thy fall to-night, 
For thou mufl die. 

Sweet rose, whose hue, angry and brave, 
Bids the rafh gazer wipe his eye; 
Thy root is ever in its grave. 

And thou mujl die. 



Sweet Spring, full of sweet days and roses, 
A box where sweets compared lie; 
My ?nufic Jhows ye ha-ue your closes, 
And all muji die. 

Only a sweet and virtuous soul, 
Like seasoned timber, never gives: 
But though the whole world turns to coal, 
Then chiefly lives. 

George Herbert. 



DISDAIN RETURNED. 

[1632.] 
1. . 

He that loves a rosy cheek, 
Or a coral lip admires, 

Or, from far-like eyes, doth seek 
Fuel to ?naintain his fires ; 

As old Time makes these decay, 

So his flames mujl wafle away. 



But a smooth and fteadfajl mind, 
Gentle thoughts and calm defires, 

Hearts, with equal love combined, 
Kindle never-dying fires. 

Where these are not, I despise 

Lovely cheeks, or lips, or eyes. 

Thomas Carew. 



SONG. 

[1636 f] 

1. 

Ask me no more where Jove befiows, 
When Jane is paft, the fading rose ; 
For in your beauty's orient deep, 
These flowers, as in their causes, Jleep. 

11. 

AJk me no more whither doth fir ay 
The golden ato?ns of the day ; 
For, in pure love, Heaven did prepare 
Those po--iuders to enrich your hair. 

in. 
AJk ?ne no more whither doth hafte 
The nightingale when Spring is pafi ; 
For in your sweet dividing throat 
She winters, and keeps warm her note. 

IV. 

AJk me no more where those fiars light 
That downwards fall in dead of night $ 
For in your eyes they Jit, and there 
Fixed become as in their sphere. 

v. 

AJk me no ?nore if cafl or wefi 
The Phoenix builds her spicy nefi ; 
For unto you at lafi Jhe flies, 
And in your fragrant bosom dies. 

Thomas Carew. 



SONG. 

C E L I A S r N G I N G. 
[1636 ?] 

You that think love can convey 

No other way, 
But through the eyes, into the heart, 

His fatal dart ; 
Close up those casements, and but hear 

This fir en fing ; 

And on the wing 
Of her sweet --voice it Jhall appear 
That love can enter at the ear: 
Then unveil your eyes, behold 

The curious mould 
Where that voice dwells; and, as we know, 

When the cocks crow, 

We freely may 

Gaze on the day : 
So may you, when the mufic's done, 
Awake and see the rifing sun. 

Thomas Carew. 



SONG. 
[i6jj.] 

Oh, no more, no more, too late 

Sighs are spent ; the burning tapers 

Of a life as chafe as fate, 

Pure as are unwritten papers, 



Are burned out: no heat, no light 
Now remains ,• 'tis ever night. 
Love is dead; let lovers'' eyes, 
Locked in endless dreams, 
The extreme of all extremes, 
Ope no more, for now love dies. 
Now love dies, implying 
Love's martyrs mujl be ever, ever dying. 

John Ford. 



DIRGE. 

[1631.] 



Glories, pleasures, pomps, delight, and ease, 

Can but please 
The outward senses, when the mind 
Is or untroubled, or by peace refined. 
Crowns may fiourijh and decay, 
Beauties Jlnne, but fade away. 
Youth may revel, yet it mujl 
Lie down in a bed of dujl. 
Earthly honours fiow and wafte, 
Time alone doth change and lajl. 
Sorrows mingled with contents, prepare 

Rejl for care ; 
Love only reigns in death ; though art 
Can find no comfort for a broken heart. 

T.ohn Ford. 

8., 



SONG. 




[1634.] 




Sorrow, Sorrow, say where 


dofi thou dwell? 


In the lowefi room of hell. 




Art thou born of human race ? 




No, no, I have a fierier face ! 


Art thou in city, town, or court 


? 


I to every place resort. 




0, why into the world is Sorrow sent? 


Men afflicled befi repent. 




What dofl thou feed on ? 




Broken Jleep. 




What takejl thou pleasure in? 




To weep ; 




To figh, to sob, to pine, 


to groan, 


To wring my hands, to 


fit alone. 


when, when /hall Sorrow 


quiet have? 


Never, never, never, never, 




Never till [he finds a grave 






Samuel Rowley. 


TO ROSES IN THE BOSOM 


OF CASTARA. 


[1634.] 




Te, blufbing virgins, happy 


are 


hi the chafie nu?inery of her 


breafis ; 


For he'd profane so chafie a 


fair, 


Whoe'er Jhould call them Cupid's nefis. 


90 





Transplanted thus how bright ye grow, 
How rich a perfume do ye yield ! 
In some close garden, cow/lips so 
Are sweeter than i" 1 the open field. 



In those white cloijlers Hue secure 
From the rude blafls of wanton breath ; 
Each hour more innocent and pure, 
Till you /hall wither into death. 



Then that which living ga-ve you room. 
Tour glorious sepulchre fhall be : 
There wants no marble for a tomb, 
Whose heart hath marble been to ?ne. 

William Habington. 



UPON CASTARA'S DEPARTURE. 

[1634.] 

Voivs are vain. No suppliant breath 
Stays the speed of swift-heeled Death. 
Life with her is gone, and I 
Learn but a new) way to die. 
See, the flowers condole, and all 
Wither in my funeral. 
The bright lily, as if day 
Parted with her, fades away. 



Violets hang their heads, and lose 
All their beauty That the rose 
A sad part in sorrow bears, 
Witness all those dewy tears, 
Which as pearl, or diamond-like, 
Swell upon her blufhing cheek. 
All things mourn. But O, behold 
How the withered marigold 
Closeth up now) Jhe is gone, 
Judging her the setting Sim ! 

William Habington. 



SONG. 

[1634.] 

StVEET Echo, sweetejl nymph, that li<vft unseen 

Within thy airy Jhe 11, 
By jlow Meanders margent green, 
And in the violet-embroidered vale, 

Where the love-lorn nightingale 
Nightly to thee her sad song mourneth well; 
Canjl thou not tell me of a gentle pair 
That like ft thy Narcijfus are? 
O, if thou have 
Hid them in some fowery cave, 
Tell me but where, 
Sweet queen of parley, daughter of the sphere ! 
So may/} thou be tranflated to the Jkies, 
And give resoundi?ig grace to all heaven s harmonies. 

John Milton. 
92 



SONG. 

[I6J4-] 
Sabrina fair, 

Lijien where thou art fitting 
Under the glaffy, cool, tranjlucent wave, 

In twifted braids of lilies knitting 
The loose train of thy amber-dropping hair , 

Lijien for dear honour s sake, 

Goddess of the fil-ver lake, 
Lijien and save. 
Liflen and appear to us 
In name of great Oceanus, 
By tli earth-Jhaking Neptune*s mace, 
And Tethys* grave majejlic face, 
By hoary Nereus* wrinkled look, 
And the Carpathian wizard* s hook, 
By scaly Triton s winding fell, 
And old soothsaying Glaucus* spell, 
By Leucothea 's lovely hands, 
And her son that rules the ftrands, 
By Thetis* tinsel-flippered feet, 
And the songs of Sirens sweet, 
By dead Parthenope 's dear tomb, 
And fair Ligea* s golden comb, 
Wherewith jhe fits on dia?nond rocks, 
Sleeking her soft alluring locks, 
By all the nymphs that nightly dance 
Upon thy Jlr earns with wily glance, 
Rise, rise, and heave thy rosy head 
From thy coral-paven bed, 
95 



And bridle in thy headlong wave, 
Till thou our summons answered have. 
Liften and save. 



John Milton. 



SONG. 

[1638.] 



While Morpheus thus does gently lay 
His powerful charge upon each part. 

Making thy spirits even obey 

The fiver charms of his dull art ; 



/, thy Good Angel, from thy fide, 
As smoke doth from the altar rise, 

Making no noise as it doth glide, 

Will leave thee in this soft surprise; 

in. 

And from the clouds will fetch thee down 

A holy vifion, to express 
Thy right unto an earthly crown ; 

No power can make this kingdom less. 



But gently, gently, left I bring 
A ftart in Jleep by sudden flight, 

Flaying aloof, and hovering, 
Till I am loft unto the fight. 





v. 


This 


is a motion fill and soft : 


So free from noise and cry, 


That 


Jove himself who hears a thought, 


Knows not when we pass by. 




Henry Killigrew. 




SONG. 




[1638.] 


WRY 


1. 

so pale and wan, fond lover ? 




Prithee why, so pale ? 


Will, 


nvhen looking well cant move her, 




Looking ill prevail? 




Prithee why so pale ? 


Why 


11. 
so dull and mute, young finner ? 




Prithee why so mute? 


Will, 


when speaking well cant win her, 




Saying nothing do^t? 




Prithee why so mute? 




in. 


Quit, 


quit for Jhame, this will not move, 



This cannot take her; 
If of herself /be will not love, 
Nothing can make her: 
The devil take her I 

Sir John Suckling. 
9? 



SONG, 

[1640?] 



Out upon it, I have loved 
Three whole days together; 

And am like to love three more, 
If it prove fair weather ! 



Time /hall moult away his wings, 

Ere he fhall discover, 
In the vjhole wide world again, 

Such a conjlant lover. 



But the spite on^t is, no praise 

Is due at all to ?ne : 
Love with me had made no flays, 

Had it any been but /he. 



Had it any been but /he, 

And that very face, 
There had been at leaf ere this 

A dozen dozen in her place! 

Sir John Suckling. 



OF A MISTRESS 

OF WHOSE AFFECTION HE WAS DOUBTFUL. 

[1639.] 

What though with figures I Jhould raise 

Above all height my miflress'' praise; 

Calling her cheek a blufhing rose, 

The fairejl June Mid e'er disclose j 

Her forehead, lilies ; and her eyes. 

The luminaries of the fkies : 

That on her lips ambrofia grows, 

And from her kijfes neflar flows? 

Too great hyperboles, unless 

She loves me, fhe is no?ie of these. 

But if her heart and her defires 

Do answer mine with equal fires, 

These attributes are then too poor : 

She is all these, and ten times more. 

Thomas Nabbes. 



SONG. 
[1639.J 

1. 



97 



Unclose those eyelids, and outfhine 
The brightness of the breaking day ! 

The light they cover is divine; 

Why Jhould it fade so soon away ? 

Stars vanifh so, and day appears ; 

The suns so drowned 1 the morning's tears. 



O, let not sadness cloud this beauty, 
Which if you lose you 7/ ne'er recover ! 

It is not Love's, but Sorrow s duty, 
To die so soon for a dead lover. 

Bani/h, O, banijh grief, and then 

Our joys voill bring our hopes again. 

Henky Glapthorne. 



98 



OUT OF THE ITALIAN. 

[1640?] 
1. 
To thy lover. 
Dear, discover 
That s-iveet blujh of thine that Jhameth 
( When those roses 
It discloses) 
All the jlo-ivers that Nature nameth. 

11. 

In free air 

Flovj thy hair, 
That no more Summer's befl dreffes 

Be beholden 

For their golden 
Locks to Phoebus' flaming trejfes. 

in. 
O deliver 
Love his quiver ; 
From thy eyes he /boots his arrows, 



Where Apollo 
Cannot follow, 
Feathered with his mother s sparrows. 



O envy not 

[That woe die not) 
Those dear lips whose door encloses 

All the Graces 

In their places, 
Brother pearls, and fijler roses ! 

v. 

From these treasures 

Of ripe pleasures 
One bright smile to clear the weathe) 

Earth and heaven, 

Thus made even, 
Both will be good friends together. 



The air does woo thee, 

Winds cling to thee-, 
Might a word once fly from out thee, 

Storm and thunder 

Would Jit under, 
And keep filence round about thee. 



But if Nature" s 
Common creatures 
So dear glories dare not borrow, 



Yet thy beauty 

Oives a duty 

To my loving, lingering sorrow. 



When to end me 
Death Jhall send me 

All his terrors to affright me i 
Thine eyes^ graces 
Gild their faces, 

And those terrors Jhall delight 



When my dying 

Life is flying, 
Those svueet airs that often Jle-iv me 

Shall revive me, 

Or reprieve me, 
And to many deaths rene-iv me. 

Richard Crashaw. 



DIRGE. 

[1640.] 

Noblest bodies are but gilded clay. 

Put a-tuay 
But the precious Joining rind, 
The inmojl rottenness remains behind. 
Kings, on earth though gods they be, 
Yet in death are vile as ave. 



He, a thousand kings before, 

Noiv is vaffal unto more. 

Vermin now insulting lie, 

And dig for diamo?ids in each eye ; 

JVhilJi the sceptre-bearing hand 

Cannot their inroads ivithjiand. 

Here doth one in odours wade, 

By the regal unclion made ; 

While another dares to gnaw 

On that tongue, his people's law. 

Fools, ah ! fools are we that so contrive, 

And do ftri-ue, 
In each gaudy ornament, 
Who /hall his corpse in the bejl diJJj present. 

Sicily and Naples : A Tragedy. 



TO CYNTHIA, 

ON CONCEALMENT OF HER BEAUTY. 

[1641.] 
I. 

Do not conceal thy radiant eyes, 
The jiar-light of sereneji Jkies ; 
Left, wanting of their heavenly light, 
They turn to Chaos'' endless night ! 

n. 
Do not conceal those treffes fair, 
The filken snares of thy curled hair; 
Left, finding neither gold nor ore, 
The curious Jilk-worm work no more ! 



Do not conceal those breajls of thine, 
More snovu-vjhite than the Apennine ; 
Left, if there be like sno-tv and froft, 
The lily be forever loft ! 



Do not conceal that fragrant scent, 

Thy breath, which to all flowers hath lent 

Perfumes ; left, it being suppreft, 

No spices grovj in all the Eaft ! 



Do not conceal thy heavenly voice, 
Which makes the hearts of gods rejoice; 
Left, mujic hearing no such thing, 
The nightingale forget to Jing ! 



Do not conceal, nor yet eclipse 

Thy pearly teeth nvith coral lips; 

Left that the seas cease to bring forth 

Gems vohich from thee have all their tuorth ! 



Do not conceal no beauty, grace, 
That's either in thy mind or face ; 
Left virtue overcome by vice 
Make men believe no Paradise! 

Sir Francis Kinaston. 



SONG. 

[1642.] 

Morpheus, the humble God, that dwells 
In cottages a?id smoky cells, 
Hates gilded roofs, and beds of down $ 
And though he fears no princess frown, 
Flies from the circle of a crown. 

Come, I say, thou powerful God, 
And thy leaden charming rod, 
Dipped in the Lethean lake, 
0"er his wakeful temples /hake, 
Lejl he Jhould Jleep, and never wake. 

Nature, alas I why art thou so 

Obliged to thy greatejl foe ? 

Sleep, that is thy beft repaft, 

Tet of death it bears a tafte, 

And both are the same thing at la/}. 

Sir John Denham. 



ioj 



TO ALTHEA. 

FROM PRISON. 

['642.] 

IV hen Love with unconfined wings 
Hovers within my gates; 

And my divine Althea brings 
To whisper at the grates : 



When I lie tangled in her hair, 

And fettered to her eye, 
The birds, that wanton in the air, 

Know no such liberty. 

When flowing cups run swiftly round 

With no allaying Thames, 
Our careless heads with roses bound, 

Our hearts with loyal flames ; 
When thirfty grief in wine we fleep, 

When healths and draughts go free, 
Fijhes, that tipple in the deep, 

Know no such liberty. 

When, like committed linnets, I 

With Jhriller throat /ball fing 
The sweetness, mercy, majefly, 

And glories of my King ; 
When I jhall 'voice aloud how good 

He is, how great Jhould be, 
Enlarged winds, that curl the flood, 

Know no such liberty. 

Stone walls do not a prison make, 

Nor iron bars a cage; 
Minds innocent and quiet take 

That for an hermitage : 
If I have freedom in my love, 

And in my soul am free, 
Angels alone, that soar above, 

Enjoy such liberty. 



Richard Lovelace. 



SONG. 

TO LUCAS? A. GOING TO THE WARS. 

[1646.] 

Tell me not, sweet, I am unkind, 

That from the nunnery 
Of thy chafe breaft and quiet mind 

To war and arms I fly. 

True, a new mijiress now I chase. 

The firfl foe in the field ; 
And with a ftronger faith embrace 

A sword, a horse, a field. 

Yet this inconflancy is such 

As you too (hall adore : 
I could not lo-ue thee, dear, so ?nuch, 

Lo=ved I not Honour more. 

Richard Lovelace. 



A VALEDICTION. 

[1642 ?J 
Bid me not go where neither sun nor Jhowers 

Do make or cheri/h flowers ; 
IVhere discontented things in sadness lie, 
And Nature grieves as I. 
When I am parted from those eyes, 
From which my better day doth rise, 
Though some propitious Power 
Should plant me in a bower, 
105 



Where amongfl happy lovers I might see 

How fhovoers and sunbeams bring 
One everlafting Spring, 
Nor would those fall, nor these Jhine forth to ?ne : 
Nature herself to him is loft, 
Who loseth her he honours moft. 
Then, faireft, to my parting view display 

Tour graces all in one full day : 
Whose bleffed Jbapes Til snatch and keep, till when 

I do return and view agen : 
So by this art Fancy /hall Fortune cross, 
And lovers live by thinking on their loss. 

William Cartwright. 



ON A GIRDLE. 

[i6 4 s.] 
That which her Jlender waift confined, 
Shall novo my joyful temples bind; 
No monarch but would give his crown, 
His arms might do vjhat this has done. 

It was my heaven s extremeft sphere, 
The pale which held that lovely deer. 
My joy, my grief, my hope, my love, 
Did all within this circle move! 

A narrow compass, and yet there 
Dwelt all that's good, and all thafs fair. 
Give me but what this ribbon bound, 
Take all the reft the sun goes round. 

Edmund Waller. 
106 



GO, LOVELY ROSE. 

[1645.] 
1. 
Go, lovely Rose! 
Tell her that vjajies her time and me, 

That now [he knows, 
When I resemble her to thee, 
How sweet and fair Jhe seems to be. 



Tell her that V young, 
And Jhuns to have her graces spied, 

That hadfl thou sprung 
In deserts, where no ?ne?i abide, 
Thou mujl have uncommended died. 



Small is the vuorth 
Of beauty from the light retired ; 

Bid her come forth, 
Suffer herself to be dejired, 
And not blujh so to be admired. 



Then die, that Jhe 
The co?nmon fate of all things rare 

May read in thee; 
How small a part of Time they /hare 
That are so vjondrous sweet and fair ! 

Edmund Waller. 



THE PASSING-BELL. 
[1646.] 
Hark! honjo chimes the pafflng-bell, 
There's no mufic to a knell: 
All the other sounds <tve hear 
Flatter, and but cheat our ear. 
This doth put us ftill in mind 
That our flejh mujl be rejigned, 
And a general filence made, 
The ivor Id be muffled in a /bade. 
He that on his pillow lies, 
Tear-embalmed before lie dies, 
Carries, like a Jheep, his life 
To meet the sacrificed s knife, 
And for Eternity is prejl, 
Sad bell-wether to the reft. 



James Shirley. 



SONG. 
[1659.] 
1. 
The glories of our blood and ftate 

Are Jhadows, not subflantial things j 
There is no armour again]} Fate; 
Death lays his icy hand on kings: 
Sceptre and crown 
Muft tumble down, 
And in the dujl be equal made 
With the poor crooked scythe and spade. 



Some men with swords may reap the field, 
And plant frejh laurels where they kill ; 
But their flrong nerves at la/l mufl yield j 
They tame but one another ftill : 
Early or late 
They (loop to Fate, 
And mufl give up their murmuring breath, 
When they, pale captives, creep to death. 



The garlands wither on your brow, 

Then boafl no ?nore your mighty deeds ; 
Upon Death 's purple altar novo 

See, where the viclor viclim bleeds: 
Your fie ads mufl come 
To the cold tomb; 
Only the aclions of the ju/l 
Smell sweet, and blofom in their duft. 



James Shirley. 



SONG. 

C E L I A IN LOVE. 
[1646.] 

/ FELT my heart, and found a flame, 
That for relief and /belter came : 
I entertained the treacherous gueft, 
And gave it welcome in my brea/l. 

109 



Poor Celia ! whither wilt thou go ? 

To cool in ftreams, or freeze in snow ? 

Or gentle Zephyrus entreat, 

To chill thy flames, and fan thy heat ? 

Perhaps a taper s fading beams 

May die in air, or quench in jlreams ; 

But lo-ue is a myfterious fire, 

Nor can in air or ice expire : 

Nor will this Phoenix be suppreft 

But with the ruin of his neft. 

Martin Lluellin. 



HONOUR. 

[1647.] 
1. 
She loves, and she confefes too ; 
There' 's then at laft no more to do. 
The happy work^s entirely done, 
Enter the town which thou haft won ; 
The fruits of conqueft now begin : 
Jo Triumphe ! Enter in. 

11. 

Whafs this, ye gods I what can it be? 
Remains there ftill an enemy ? 
Bold Honour jlands up in the gate, 
And would yet capitulate. 
Ha-ue I overcome all real foes, 
And Jhall this Phantom me oppose ? 



Noisy Nothing ! ftalking Shade ! 

By what witchcraft wert thou made? 

Empty cause of solid harms ! 

But I Jhall find out counter-charms 

Thy airy Devil/hip to remove 

From this circle here of Love. 



Sure I Jhall rid myself of thee, 

By the Nighfs obscurity. 

And obscurer Secrecy. 

Unlike to every other sprite, 

Thou attempt ft not men f affright, 

Nor appear 'ft but in the Light. 

Abraham Cowley. 



CHERR Y- RLPE. 

[1648.] 

Cherrt-ripe, ripe, ripe, I cry, 
Full and fair ones, come and buy 
If so be you a/k ?ne where 
They do grow, I answer, There, 
Where my Julia's lips do smile; 
There^s the land, or cherry-iflc, 
Whose plantations fully jhow 
All the year where cherries grow. 

Robert Herrick. 



TO MEADOWS. 

[1648.] 

1. 
Ye have been frefh and green , 

Ye have been filled with flowers ; 
And ye the walks have been 

Where ?naids have spent their hour 

11. 

Ye have beheld how they 
With wicker arks did come, 

To kiss and bear away 
The richer cow flips home. 

in. 

Y^ave heard them sweetly fing, 
And seen them in a round: 

Each virgin, like a Spring, 
With honeysuckles crowned. 

IV. 

But now we see none here 
Whose filvery feet did tread, 

And with difhevelled hair 
Adorned this smoother mead. 

v. 
Like unthrifts, having spent 

Your (lock, and needy grown, 
Y* are left here to lament 

Your poor eflates, alone. 



Robert Herrick. 



TO PRIMROSES FILLED WITH MORNING DEW. 

[164s.] 

Why do ye weep, sweet babes ? Can tears 
Speak grief in you, 
Who were but born 
Jufl as the mode/} Morn 
Teemed her refrejhing dew ? 
Alas ! ye have not known that Jbower 
"That mars a flower 5 
Nor felt th" unkind 
Breath of a bla/Iing wind ; 
Nor are ye worn with years, 

Or <zuarped, as we, 
Who think it ft range to see 
Such pretty flowers, like to orphans young, 
To speak by tears before ye have a tongue. 

Speak, whimpering younglings, and make known 
The reason why 
Ye droop and die. 
Is it for want of fee p, 
Or childijh lullaby? 
Or that ye have not seen as yet 
The violet? 
Or brought a kiss 
From that sweet heart to this ? 
No, no, tiiis sorrow /I own 
By your tears /bed, 
Would have this leclure read : 
That things of greatejl, so of meane/l worth, 
Conceived with grief are, and with tears brought forth. 

Robert Herrick. 



11* 



TO DAFFODILS. 
[1648.J 

1 

Fair daffodils, we weep to see 

Tou hafle away so soon: 
As yet the early-rifing sun 
Has not attained his noon. 
Stay, flay, 
Until the ha/ling day 

Has run 
But to the even-song; 
And, having prayed together, we 
Will go with you along. 



We have Jhort time to flay as you, 

We have as fljort a Sprifig ; 
As quick a growth to meet decay, 
As you, or any thing. 
We die, 
As your hours do, and dry 

Away 
Like to the Summer s rain ; 
Or as the pearls of morning dew, 
Ne'er to be found again. 

Robert Herrio 



TO BLOSSOMS. 

[1648.] 



Fair pledges of a fruitful tree, 
Why do ye fall so f aft? 
Tour date is not so paft y 

But you may flay yet here awhile, 
To blujh and gently smile, 
And go at laft. 



What, voere ye bom to be 

An hour or half's delight, 
And so to bid good-night ? 

""Tvoas pity Nature brought ye forth 

Merely to Jhonxj your tvorth, 

And lose you quite. 



But you are lovely leaves, where <we 
May read ho-zv soon things have 
Their end, though ne'er so brave; 
And after they have fhov.m their pride, 
Like you, avjhile, they glide 
Into the grave. 

Robert Herrick. 



TO VIRGINS, 

T M A K E M UCH F T I M E. 

[1648.] 



Gather ye rose-buds while ye may, 

Old Time is fill a-flying, 
And this same flower that smiles to-day, 

To-morrow will be dying. 



The glorious lamp of Heaven, the Sun, 

The higher he's a-getting, 
The sooner will his race be run, 

And nearer he's to setting. 



That age is bejl 'which is the flrfl, 
When youth and blood are warmer j 

But being spent, the worse, and wor/l 
Times flill succeed the former. 



Then be not coy, but use your time, 

And while ye may, go marry ; 
For having loft but once your prime, 

You may forever tarry. 

Robert Herric:c. 



THE NIGHT-PIECE, TO JULIA. 

[1648.] 

1. 
Her eyes the glow-worm lend thee, 
The /booting Jlars attend thee ; 

And the elves also, 

Whose little eyes glow 
Like the sparks of fire, befriend thee. 

11. 

No Will-o''-th''-Wisp mis-light thee, 
Nor snake or flow-worm bite thee ; 

But on, o?i thy way, 

Not making a fay, 
Sir.ce ghofl there^s none to affright thee. 

in. 
Let not the dark thee cumber-, 
What though the moon does Jlumber P 

The jlars of the night 

Will lend thee their light, 
Like tapers clear without number. 

IV. 

Then, Julia, let me woo thee, 
Thus, thus to come unto me: 

And when I /hall meet 

Thy fil-uery feet, 
My soul I'll pour into thee. 

Robert Herrick. 



117 



TO THE WESTERN WIND. 
[1648.] 

SiveeT weft em wind, whose luck it is, 

Made rival with the air, 
To give Perennas Up a kiss, 

And fan her wanton hair, 

Bring me but one, Vll promise thee, 

In/had of common /bowers, 
Thy wings /ball be embalmed by me, 

And all beset with flowers. 

Robert Herrick. 



TO THE WATER- NYMPHS 

DRINKING AT THE FOUNTAIN. 

[1648.: 

I. 

Reach with your whiter hands to me 
Some cryflal of the spring, 

And I about the cup /ball see 
Frejb lilies flouri/hi?ig. 



Or else, sweet nymphs, do you but this — 

To tti glass your lips incline, 
And I /hall see, by that one kiss, 

The water turned to wine! 

Robert Herrick. 



TO ELECTRA. 

[1648.] 

/ dare not aft. a kiss, 
I dare not beg a smile; 

Left, having that or this, 

I might gro-iv proud the ivhile. 

11. 
No, no, the utmoft Jhare 

Of my defire Jhall be, 
Only to kiss the air 

'That lately kijfed thee. 



Robert Herrick. 



SONG. 
[1649; J 
1. 
Dear, do not your fair beauty <zvrong, 
In thinking ftill you are too young ; 
The rose and lilies in your cheek 
Flourijh, and no more ripeness seek. 



Tour cherry lip, red, soft, and sweet, 
Proclaims such fruit for tafte moft meet ; 
Then lose no time, for Love has <wings, 
And flies anvay from aged things. 

Thomas May. 



THE RETREAT. 

[1650.] 
Happy those early days, when I 
Shine d in ?ny a?iget-infancy ! 
Before I under/hod this place 
Appointed for my second race, 
Or taught my soul to fancy aught 
But a white, celeflial thought: 
When yet I had not walked above 
A mile or two from my firjl lo<ve, 
And looking back, at that Jhort space, 
Could see a glimpse of his bright face ; 
When on some gilded cloud, or fower, 
My gazi?2g soul would dwell an hour, 
And in those weaker glories spy 
Some Jhadows of eternity ; 
Before I taught my tongue to wound 
My conscience with a finful sound, 
Or had the black art to dispense 
A several fin to every sense, 
But felt through all this flejhly dress 
Bright /boots of everlajlingness. 
O how I long to travel back 
And tread again that ancient track! 
That I might once more reach that plain, 
Where fir/l I left my glorious train ; 
From whence tti enlightened spirit sees 
That jhady city of palm-trees. 
But ah, my soul with too much fay- 
Is drunk, and ft aggers in the way ! 



Some men a forward motion love, 
But I by backward Jhps would move, 
And when this du/l Jails to the urn, 
In that Jiate I came return. 



Henry Vaughan. 



THE SHOWER. 

[1650?] 

Waters above, eternal springs, 

The dew that fillers the Dove's wings ! 

O welcome, welcome to the sad I 

Give dry dufl drink, drink that makes glad. 

Many fair evenings, ?nany flowers 

Sweetened with rich and gentle /bowers, 

Have I enjoyed ; and down have run 

Many a fine and fhining sun : 

But never, till this happy hour, 

Was blejl with such an evening jhower ! 

Henry Vaughan. 



SONG. 

[1650?] 

Come, ye young men, come along, 
With your mujic, dance, and song ; 
Bring your lajfes in your hands, 
For 'tis that which Love commands. 



'Then to the Maypole come away, 
For it is no-iv a holiday. 

It is the choice time of the year, 
For the violets now appear; 
No-tv the rose receives its birth, 
And pretty primrose decks the earth. 

Then to the Maypole come away, 

For it is no-iv a holiday. 

Here each bachelor may choose 
One that will not faith abuse, 
Nor repay with cold disdain, 
Love that Jhould be loved again. 

Then to the Maypole come away, 

For it is no-iv a holiday. 

And when you well reckoned have, 
What kijfes you your sweethearts gave, 
Take them all again, and more, 
It will never ?nake them poor. 

Then to the Maypole come away, 

For it is no-iv a holiday. 

When you thus have spent the time, 

Till the day be pajl its prime, 

To your beds repair at night, 

And dream there of your days delight. 

Then to the Maypole come away, 

For it is now a holiday. 

Robert Co: 



THE EXEQUIES. 

[1651.] 

Dr. -iff near, 
You lovers that complain 
Of Fortune or Disdain, 
And to my a/ties lend a tear. 
Melt the hard marble with your groans, 
And soften the relentless Jlones, 
Whose cold embraces the sad subjecl hide, 
Of all Lows cruelties, and Beauty s pride. 

No verse, 
No epicedium bring, 
Nor peaceful requiem fmg, 
To charm the terrors of my hearse ; 
No profane numbers mu/l flow ?iear 
T/ie sacred jilence that dwells here. 
Vaft griefs are dumb ; softly, O, softly mourn, 
Lejl you dijiurb the peace attends my urn. 

Yet jlrew 
Upon my dismal grave 
Such offerings as you have, 
Forsaken cypress and sad yew ; 
For kinder flowers can take no birth, 
Or growth, from such unhappy earth. 
Weep only o'er my dufi, and say, Here lies 
To Love and Fate an equal sacrifice. 

Thomas Stanley. 
'■I 



LOVE ONCE, LOVE EVER. 

[1651.] 

Shall I, hopeless, then pursue 

A fair Jhadow that jlill flies me ? 

Shall I Jlill adore, and woo 

A proud heart that does despise me ? 

I a conjlant love may so, 

But, alas ! a fruitless Jbow. 

Shall I by the erring light 

Of two crojer ftars Jlill sail ? 

That do Jbine, but /bine in spite, 
Not to guide, but make me fail ? 

I a wandering course may fleer, 

But the harbour ne^er come near. 

Whiljl these thoughts my soul poffess, 
Reason paj/ion would o^ersway, 

Bidding me my flames suppress, 
Or di-vert so?ne other way : 

But what reason would pursue, 

That my heart runs counter to. 

So a pilot, bent to make 

Search for some unfound-out land, 

Does with him the magnet take, 
Sailing to the unknown jlrand : 

But that, Jleer which way he will, 

To the lo-ved North points Jlill. 

Sir Edward Sherburne. 
124 



SONG. 

[1652?] 
He's great that maflers his own soul, 
As he whose nod Jhakes either Pole. 
Not he that kings in chains can bring, 
But that subdues himself s a king; 
That's ever in himself at home, 
And ne"er lets his queen, Reason, roam, 
On whom all pajjions waiting /land, 
As handmaids on their lady's hand. 
He o'er himself triumphing firjl, 
Dares Chance and Envy do their worf; 
And keeping fill his own even height, 
Fall Fortune heavy, fall fie light, 
He'll never make to th' flanders by 
Too Iovj a moan, or haughty cry; 
But wisely can her favjning fight, 
And then as bravely scorn her spite. 
Who can deny that such a one 
Pojfef'es all things, or wants none? 
And vuhich 0' th' two would you wijh firft, 
Still to have drink, or ne'er to thirjl ? 

Robert Baron. 



THE ANGLER'S WISH. 

[1653.] 

1. 

/ in these fowery meads would be: 

These cryfal Jlreams Jhould solace me 



To whose har?nonious bubbling noise 
I <witk my a?igle would rejoice: 
Sit here, and see the turtle-dove 
Court his chafe mate to ails of love. 



Or, on that bank, feel the nvefl wind 
Breathe health and plenty ; please my mind 
To see sweet dew-drops hiss these flowers, 
And then, wa/hed off by April Jhowers : 
Here, hear ?ny Kenna fing a song ,• 
There, see a blackbird feed her young ; 



Or a leverock build her nef ; 
Here, give my weary spirits reft, 
And raise my low-pitched thoughts above 
Earth, or what poor mortals love: 

Thus free from law-suits, and the noise 
Of princes' 1 courts, I would rejoice. 



Or, with my Bryan, and a book, 
Loiter long days near Shawford brook : 
There fit by him, and eat my meat, 
There see the sun both rise and set: 
There bid good-morntng to next day, 
There meditate my time away : 
And angle on, and beg to have 
A quiet paffage to a welcome grave. 

Izaak Walton. 
iz6 



AMINTOR'S WELL- A- D AY. 

[1653.] 

Chloris, now thou art fled away, 

Amintors Jheep are gone aflray, 

And all the joy he took to see 

His pretty lambs run after thee, 
Is gone, is gone, and he a I way 
Sings nothing now but well-a-day ! 

His oaten pipe, that in thy praise 
Was wont to Jing such roundelays, 
Is thrown away, and not a swain 
Dares pipe, or fmg, within his plain j 
""Tis death for any now to say 
One word to him but well-a-day ! 

The May-pole wliere thy little feet 

So roundly did in measures ?neet, 

Is broken down, and no content 

Comes near Amintor fince you went. 
All that I e-ver heard him say, 
Was Chloris, Chloris, nvell-a-day ! 

Upon these banks you used to tread, 
He e-uer fince hath lain his head, 
And whispered there such pining woe, 
As not a blade of grass will grow. 
O Chloris, Chloris, come away, 
And hear A?nintors well-a-day .' 

H. Hughes. 



TO AMANDA, 

LEAVING HIM ALONE. 
[I6SM 

What bufiness calls thee hence, and calls not me ? 
My bufiness ever is to wait on thee ; 
Therefore wherever you go, 

I muft go too ; 
Whatever your bufiness is, 
Be it that, or this, 
Yet Jlill my bufiness is to wait on you. 
Nay, prithee, my dearefl, why 

So coy and Jhy ? 
Yes, yes, you "11 come agen, 

But, prithee, when ? 
Here mufl I mope alone, 
Whilfl you some other love, 
Or, in your cabinet above, 
Some letters doat upon, 
Which teach you how to say me Nay. 
But know, Amanda, if too long you fay, 
My soul /ball vanifh into air, 
And haunt and dodge thee everywhere. 
' Tis ft when thou tah f Heaven from me, 
Thou take at leaf my soul with thee. 

N. Hookes. 

123 



SONG. 

[1654.] 

Solitude, of friends the befl, 

And the bejl companion ; 

Mother of truths, and brought at leaji 

Every day to bed of one ; 

In this fo-zvery man/ion 

I contemplate hovu the rose 

Stands upon thorns, hovj quickly goes 

The dismaying jejfamine : 

Only the soul, vohich is divine, 

No decay of beauty knovjs. 

The World is Beauty's Mirror. Floavers, 

In their firjl virgin purity, 

Flatterers both of the nose and eye — 

To he cropped by paramours 

Is their beji of dejliny : 

And those nice darlings of the land, 

Which seemed heaven s painted bo-iv to scorn, 

And bloomed the envy of the mom, 

Are the gay trophy of a hand. 

Sir Richard Fanshavv. 



129 



SONG. 
[1654.] 
STILL-BORN Silence, thou that art 
Floodgate of the deeper heart ; 
Offspring of a heavenly kind ; 
Frojl o' tli mouth, and thavo d' tlC mind; 
Secrecy s confident, and he 
That makes religion Myjiery : 
Admiration s speaking 'ft tongue, — 
Leave thy desert fijades, among 
Reverend hermits'' hallowed cells, 
Where retired]/} Devotion dwells: 
With thy enthujiasms come ; 
Seize this maid, and make her dumb. 

Richard Flecknoe. 



ON CHLORIS WALKING IN THE SNOW. 

[1654.] 
/ saiv fair Chloris vjalk alone, 
When feathered rain came softly dovjn ; 
Then Jove descended from his tower, 
To vooo her in a Jilver Jhovjer. 
The wanton snovo flew to her breajl, 
Like little birds into their nejl ; 
But overcome voith whiteness there, 
For grief it thawed into a tear : 
Then falling do-ivn her garment hem, 
To deck her, froze into a gem. 

Wit's Recreations. 



1 jo 



IJl 



SONG. 

[1657.] 
1. 
Tell me no more how fair Jhe is, 

I iia<ve no mind to hear 
The (lory of that diflant bliss 

I ne<ve t r Jhall come near : 
By sad experience I hanje found 
That her perfeclion is my wound. 



And tell me not how fond I am 

To tempt a daring fate, 
From whence no triumph e<ver came, 

But to repent too late: 
There is some hope ere long I may 
In Jilence dote myself away. 



I ajk no pity, lo~ue, from thee, 

Nor will thy juflice blame, 
So that thou wilt not enijy me 

The glory of my flame : 
Which crowns my heart whenever it dies, 
In that it falls her sacrifice. 

Henry King, Bijhop of Chichrfte; 



FAIR T SONG. 
[1658.] 

Come, follow, follow me, 
You, fairy elves that be, 
Which circle on the green, 
Come, follow) Mab, your Queen. 
Hand in hand lefs dance around, 
For this place is fairy ground. 

When mortals are at reft, 
And snoring in their neft, 
Unheard, and unespied, 
Through keyholes we do glide 5 
0-ver tables, ftools, and Jhel-ves, 
We trip it with our fairy elves. 

And if the house be foul 
With platter, difti, or bowl, 
Up flairs we nimbly creep, 
And find the Jluts afleep : 
There we pinch their arms and thighs 
None escapes, nor none espies. 

But if the house be swept, 
And from uncleanness kept, 
We praise the household maid, 
And duly Jhe is paid j 
For we use, before we go, 
To drop a tefler in her /hoe. 

IJ2 



Upon a 7nufhroorns head 

Our table-cloth we spread $ 

A grain of rye or wheat 

Is manchet which we eat] 
Pearly drops of dew we drink, 
In acorn-cups filled to the brink. 

The brains of nightingales, 

With uncluous fat of snails, 

Between two cockles Jlewed, 

Is meat thafs eajily chewed; 
Tails of --worms, and marrow) of mice, 
Do make a difh thafs wondrous nice. 

The grasshopper, gnat, and fly, 

Serve us for our minjirelsy $ 

Grace said, we dance awhile, 

And so the time beguile; 
And if the moon doth hide her head, 
The glow-worm lights us home to bed. 

On tops of dewy grass 

So nimbly do we pass, 

The young and tender ftalk 

Ne^er bends when we do walk: 
Yet in the morning may be seen 
Where we the night before have been. 

Mysteries of Love and Eloquenxe. 



135 



SONG. 

[1660.] 

Cupid all his arts did prove 

To invite my heart to love; 

But I alvoays did delay 

His mild summons to obey. 

Being deaf to all his charms. 

Straight the god ajfumes his ar?ns : 

With his bovo and quiver, lie 

Takes the field to duel me. 

Armed like Achilles, I 

With my Jhield alone defy 

His bold challenge ; as he cafl 

His golden darts, I as fajl 

Catched his arrows in my fin eld; 

Till I made him leave the field : 

Fretting and disarmed then, 

The angry god returns agen 

All his fia?nes ; "Jhad of a dart, 

Throvcs himself into my heart : 

Useless I my Jhield require, 

When the fort is all on fire ; 

I in vain the field did vjin, 

Novj the ene?7iy''s vjithin. 

Thus betrayed, at lajl I cry, 

Love, thou hajl the vitlory. 

Thomas Ford. 

134 



TO THE INCONSTANT CYNTHIA. 

[1660.] 
1. 

Tell ?ne once, dear, how it does prove 

That I so 7?iuch forsworn could be ? 

I never swore always to love, 

I only vowed ftill to love thee. 

And art thou novo what thou wert then, 
Unsworn unto by other men ? 



In thy fair breaft, and once-fair soul, 
I thought my vows were writ alone ; 
But others' 1 oaths so blurred the scroll, 
That I no ?nore could read my own. 
And am I Jlill obliged to pay, 
When you had thrown the bond away ? 



Nor mujl we only part in joy, 
Our tears as well mujl be unkind: 
Weep you, that could such truth de/lroy, 
And I that could such falseness find. 

Thus we 7nu(l unconcerned remain 

In our divided joys and pain. 

Yet we may love, but on this different score, 
You, 'tvhat I am, I, what you were before. 

Sir Robert Howard. 
iJ5 



SONG. 

[1661.] 

1. 
Come, Somnus, vjith thy potent charms. 
And seize this captive in thy arms ; 
And sweetly drop on every sense 
Thy soul-refrejhing influence. 
His fight, smell, hearing, touch, and tafle, 
Unto thy peace do thou bind fajh 



On working brains, at school all day, 
At night thou doll be/lo-iv a play ; 
And troubled minds thou dojl set free j 
Thou mak ]/l both friends and foes agree : 
All are alike, who live by breath, 
In thee, and in thy brother Death. 

Fhilonax Lovekin. 



SONG. 
[1664.] 
1. 
Ladies, though to your conquering eyes 
Love owes his chiefe/l 'viclories, 
And borrows those bright arms from you 
With which he does the world subdue; 
Yet you yourselves are not above 
The empire nor the griefs of love. 



II. 

Then rack not lovers with disdain, 
Left Love on you revenge their pain ; 
Tou are not free because you ""re fair, 
The boy did not his mother spare; 
Though beauty be a killing dart, 
It is no armour for the heart. 

Sir George Etherege. 



THE RESOLVE. 

[1664.] 
1. 
Tell ?ne not of a face that's fair, 

Nor lip nor cheek that's red; 
Nor of the treffes of her hair, 

Nor curls in order laid: 
Nor of a rare seraphic voice, 

That like an angel fings : 
Though if I were to take my choice, 

I vjould have all these things. 
But if thou wilt have me love, 

And it muft be a /he, 
The only argument can move, 

Is, that Jhe will love me. 

11. 

The glories of your ladies be 

But metaphors of things ; 
And but resemble what we see 
Each common objetl brings. 
157 



Roses out-red their lips and cheeks, 

Lilies their whiteness /lain : 
What fool is he that Jbadoivs seeks, 

And may the sub/lance gain ? 
Then if thou Ht have me love a lass, 

Let it be one that's kind; 
Else Vm a servant to the glass 

That's with Canary lined. 

Alexander Brome. 



ON CLARET. 

[1664.] 

Within this bottle's to be seen 
A scarlet liquor, that has been 

Born of the royal Vine ; 
We but nick-name it when we call 
It Gods'" drink, -who drink none at all- 
No higher name than Wine. 
t 
' Tis ladies" liquor : here one might 

Fea/l both his eye and appetite, 

With beauty and witJi tajle ; 
Cherries and roses, wliich you seek 
Upon your miftress" lip and cheek, 
Are here together placed. 

Phyficians may prescribe their whey, 
To purge our reins and brains away, 
And clarify the bloody 
138 



That cures one sickness with another, 
This routs by wholesale altogether, 
And drowns them in a flood. 

This poets makes, else how could I 
Thus ramble into poetry, 

Nay, and write sonnets too ? 
If there' 's such power in junior wines, 
To make one venture upon lines, 

What could Canary do ? 

Then squeeze the veffeVs bowels out, 
And deal it faithfully about, — 

Crown each hand with a brimmer: 
Since we^re to pass through this Red Sea, 
Our noses /ball our pilots be, 

And every soul a swi?nmer ! 

Alexander Brome. 



SONG. 

THE SOLDIER GOING TO THE FIELD. 

[1666?] 

Preserve thy fighs, unthrifty girl, 

To purify the air: 
Thy tears to thread i?iftead of pearl 

On bracelets of thy hair. 

Tlte trumpet makes the echo hoarse, 
And wakes the louder drum ; 

Expense of grief gains no remorse, 
When sorrow Jhould be dumb. 



For I mufl go where lazy Peace 

Will hide her drowsy head, 
And, for the sport of kings, increase 

The number of the dead ! 

But firji Vll chide thy cruel theft. 

Can I in war delight, 
Who being of my heart bereft 

Can have no heart to fight ? 

Thou know/l the sacred laws of old 

Ordained a thief Jhould pay, 
To quit him of his theft, seven-fold 

What he had flolen away. 

Thy payment /hall but double be : 

O then with speed refign 
My own seduced heart to me, 

Accompanied with thine. 

Sir William Davenant. 



SONG. 

[1666 ?] 

The lark now leaves his watery ne/l, 
And climbing /hakes his dewy wings ; 

He takes this window for the Ea/l, 
And to implore your light he fings. 

Awake, awake, the morn will never rise 

Till /he can dress her beauty at your eyes. 
i 4 o 



The merchant bows unto the seaman" s fiar, 
The ploughman from the sun his season takes ; 

But fill the lover wonders what they are, 
Who look for day before his miftress wakes. 

Awake, awake, break through your veils of lawn, 

Then draw your curtains, and begin the dawn. 

Sir William Davenant. 



141 



TO CHLORIS. 

[1670?] 

Farewell, my sweet, until I come, 
Improved in merit, for thy sake, 

With characlers of honour home, 

Such as thou canjl not then but take. 

To loyalty my love mujl bow, 
My honour too calls to the field, 

Where, for a lady's bujk, I now 
Mujl keen and Jlurdy iron wield. 

Yet, when I rufh into those arms, 
Where death and danger do combine, 

I Jhall less subjecl be to harms, 

Than to those killing eyes of thine. 

Since I could live in thy disdain, 
Thou art so far become my Fate, 

That I by nothing can be (lain, 
Until thy sentence speaks my date. 



But if I seem to fall in war, 

T" 1 excuse the murder you commit, 

Be to my memory ju/l, so far 

As in thy heart f acknowledge it. 

That's all I ajk ; which thou mujl give 
To him, that, dying, takes a pride 

It is for thee, and would not Hue, 
Sole Prince of all the world befide. 

Charles Cotton. 



SONG. 

[1670?] 

1. 
Phil lis, men say that all my vows 

Are to thy fortune paid; 
Alas ! my heart he little knows 
- JFho thinks ?ny love a trade. 

11. 
Were I of all these -woods the lord, 

One berry from thy hand 
More real pleasure would afford 

Than all my large command. 

in. 
My humble love has learned to live 

On what the niceji maid, 
Without a. conscious blujh, may give 
Beneath the myrtle-Jhade. 

Sir Charles Ssdley, 





SONG. 




[1670?] 




Nor, Celia, that I jufter am, 

Or better than the reft, 
For I would change each hour like them, 

Were not my heart at reft. 




But I am tied to very thee, 
By every thought I have; 

Thy face I only care to see, 
Thy heart I only crave. 




All that in woman is adored 
In thy dear self I find ; 

For the whole sex can but afford 
The handsome, and the kind. 




Why then Jbould I seek farther (lore, 

And ftill make love anew? 

When change itself can give no more, 

"Tis easy to be true. 

Sir Charles Sedley. 




OUT OF LTCOPHRON. 




[1670 ?] 


145 


What /ball become of Man so wise, 

When he dies F 

None can tell 
Whether he goes to Heaven or Hell: 



Or, after a few moments dear, 
He disappear, 
And at loft 
Perijh entirely like a beajl. 
But women, wine, and mirth, we know, 
Are all the joys he has below ; 
Then let us ply those joys we have, 
*Tis vain to think beyond the grave. 
Out of our reach the gods have laid 

Of time to come the event, 
And laugh to see the fools afraid 
Of what the knaves invent. 

Sir Charles Sedley. 



SONG. 

[1671.] 



Come, Chloris, hie we to the bower, 
To sport us ere the day be done: 

Such is thy power that every flower 
Will ope to thee as to the sun. 



And if a flower but chance to die 

With my Jighs" blajl, or mine eyes'" rain, 

Thou canjl revive it with thine eye, 
And with thy breath make sweet again. 



The wanton suckling, and the 'vine, 

Will jlrive for th" honour, who firji may 

With their green arms encircle thine, 
To keep the burning sun away. 

The Academy of Compliments. 



LOVE'S BRAVO. 

[1674.] 

Why Jhould we mur?nur, why repine, 

Phyllis, at thy fate, or mine? 
Like prisoners, why do we these fetters Jhake, 

Which neither thou, nor I, can break? 
There is a better way to baffle Fate, 

If mortals would but mind it, 
And 'tis not hard to find it : 
Who would be happy, mujl be desperate. 

He mujl despise those Jlars that fright 
Only fools that dread the night ; 

Time and Chance he mujl out-brave; 

He that crouches is their flaw. 

Thus the wise Pagans, ill at ease, 
Bravely chaflised their surly Deities. 

Thomas Flatman. 



SONG. 

[1675.] 
Cupid, I scorn to beg the art 

From thy imaginary throne, 
To learn to wound another s heart, 

Or how to heal my own. 

If fhe be coy, my airy mind 

Brooks not a fiege ; if Jhe be kind, 

She pro-ues my scorn that was my wonder; 

For towns that yield I hate to plunder. 

Lo-ue is a game ; hearts are the prize ; 
Pride keeps the flakes, art throws the dice ; 

When either^ s won, 

The game is done. 
Lo--ue is a co-ward, hunts the flying prey, 
But when it once flands flill, Lo<ve runs away. 

Sir Francis Fane. 



UNCERTAIN LOVE. 

[1676.] 

The labouring man that plants and sows, 

His certain times of profit knows ; 

Seamen the roughefl tempefl scorn, 

Hoping at la/l a rich return. 

But ?7iy too much loved Cello's mind 

Is more inconftant and unkind 

Than flormy weather, sea, or wind. 



146 



Now with ajfured hope raised high, 
I think no man so bleji as I ; 
Hope, that a dying saint may o c wn, 
To see and hear her speak alone. 
What if I snatch one kiss, or more ? 
Where Heaven glues a wealthy Jlore, 
"Tis to be bounteous to the poor. 

But ere my swifteft thought can thence 

Convey a blejjing to my sense, 

My hope like fairy treasurers gone, 

Although I 7iever made it known. 

From all untruth my heart is clean, 

No other love can enter in ; 

Tet Celiacs ne^er will come agen. 

Thomas Duffett. 



THE MOWER TO THE GLOW-WORMS. 

[1677? J 

Ye living lamps, by whose dear light 
The nightingale does fit so late, 
And Jludying all the summer night, 
Her matchless songs does meditate; 

Ye country comets, that portend 
No war nor princess funeral, 
Shining unto no other end 
Than to presage the grasses fall; 



Te glow-nvorms, whose officious flame 
To wandering mowers Jbows the way, 
That in the night have loft their aim, 
And after foolijh flres do ftray : 

Tour courteous lights in vain ye wafte, 
Since Juliana here is come ; 
For /he my mind hath so displaced, 
That I Jhall never find my home. 

Andrew Marvell. 



LOVE AND LIFE. 

[1678 ?] 
All my paft life is mine no more, 

The flying hours are gone ,• 
Like tranjitory dreams given o y er, 
Whose images are kept in jlore 

By Memory alone. 

The time that is to come is not, 
How can it then be mine? 

The present moment' 's all my lot; 

And that, as faji as it is got, 
Phyllis, is only thine. 

Then talk not of inconjlancy, 

False hearts, and broken vows ; 
If I, by miracle, can be 
This livelong minute true to thee, 
""Tis all that Heaven allows. 

John Wilmot, Earl of Rochcftc 
j 48 



SONG. 

[1680?] 

From all uneasy pajjions free, 
Revenge, ambition, jealousy, 
Contented I had been too blejl, 
If Love and you had let me refl. 
Yet that dull life I now despise j 

Safe from your eyes 
I feared no griefs, but then I found no joys. 

Amidjl a thousand kind defires, 
Which beauty moves and love inspires, 
Such pangs I feel of tender fear, 
No heart so soft as mine can bear. 
Yet Til defy the vjorji of harms ; 

Such are your charms, 
"Tis voorth a life to die vjithin your arms. 

John Sheffield, Duke of Buckingham. 



SONG. 

[1696.] 





Celia is cruel; Sylvia, thou, 




I mufl confess, art kind; 




But in her cruelty, I vovj, 




I more repose can find. 




For 0, thy fancy at all games does fly, 




Fond of address, and vjilling to comply.' 


149 





Thus he that lo-ves mufl be undone, 

Each way on rocks we fall ; 
Either you will be kind to none, 

Or, worse, be kind to all. 
Vain are our hopes, and endless is our care: 
We mufl be jealous, or we mufl despair. 

Robert Gould. 



AN INCANTATION. 
[1696.] 
1. 
Choose the darkefl part o' tlC groove, 
Such as ghofls at noonday love. 
Dig a trench, and dig it nigh 
Where the bones of Laius lie ; 
Altars raised of turf or flone, 
Will the infernal powers ha-ue none. 
Answer me, if this be done ? 
'Tis done. . 



Is the sacrifice ?nade fit ? 
Draw her backward to the pit : 
Draw the barren heifer back: 
Barren let her be, and black. 
Cut the curled hair that grows 
Full betwixt her horns and brows: 
And turn your faces from the sun. 
Answer me, if this be done ? 
''Tis done. 
150 



Pour in blood, and blood-like wine, 

To Mother Earth and Proserpine: 

Mingle milk into the flream ; 

Fea/l the ghofls that love the fleam : 

Snatch a brand from funeral pile : 

Toss it in, to make them boil; 

And turn your faces from the sun. 

Answer me, if this be done P 

""Tis done. 

John Dryden. 



ODE ON SOLITUDE. 

[lyoz.j 

Happy the man 'whose wifl> and care 

A few paternal acres bound ; 

Content to breathe his native air 

In his own ground. 

Whose herds with milk, whose fields with bread, 

Whose flocks supply him with attire : 
Whose trees in summer yield him /hade, 
In winter fire. 

Bleffed who can unconcernedly find 

Hours, days, and years, flide soft away, 
In health of body, peace of mind, 
££uiet by day j 



Sound Jleep by night ; ftudy mid ease 


Together mixed ; sweet recreation : 


And innocence, which moft does please, 


With meditation. 


Thus let me live, unseen, unknown, 


Thus unlamented let me die: 


Steal from the world, and not a flone 


Mark where I lie. 


Alexander Pope. 


SONG. 


[i 7 c6.] 


If wine and mufic have the power 


To ease the fickness of the soul, 


Let Phoebus every firing explore, 


And Bacchus fill the sprightly bowl. 


Let them their friendly aid employ, 


To make my Chloe's absence light; 


And seek for pleasure, to deftroy 


The sorrows of this livelong night. 


But [he to-morrow will return ; 
Venus, be thou to-morrow great; 


Thy myrtles firow, thy odours bum, 


And meet thy favourite nymph in fiate. 


Kind goddess, to no other powers 


Let us to-morrows blefiings own; 


Thy darling loves /hall guide the hours, 


And all the day be thine alone. 


Mathevv Prior. 


151 



DIRGE IN CTMBELINE. 

[I747-] 
To fair Fideles grafly tomb 

Soft maids and village hinds fall bring 
Each opening s-tueet of earliejl bloom, 

And rifle all the breathing Spring. 

No 'ivailing ghoft fall dare appear, 

To --vex voith jhrieks this hallowed grove ; 

But Jhepherd lads affemble here, 

And melting virgins ovjn their love. 

No ^withered vjitch /hall here be seen ; 

No goblifis lead their nightly crevu : 
The female fays fall haunt the green, 

And dress thy grave vjith pearly dew. 

The redbreajl oft, at evening hours, 

Shall kindly lend his little aid, 
With hoary moss, and gathered flovjers, 

To deck the ground vohere thou art laid. 

When hovjling nvinds, and beating rain, 

In tempejh fake the sylvan cell ; 
Or, midjl the chase, on every plain, 

The tender thought on thee fall dvuell $ 

Each lonely scene fall thee reflore ,• 

For thee the tear be duly fed ; 
Beloved till life can charm no more, 

And mourned till Pity's self be dead! 

William Collins. 



A BACCHANALIAN 

[1769?] 

What is nvar and all its joys ? 
Useless mischief, empty noise. 
What are arms and trophies ivon P 
Spangles glittering i?i the sun. 
Rosy Bacchus, give me wine, 
Happiness is only thine! 

What is love vuithout the bo-ivl ? 
' Tis a languor of the soul : 
Crowned with ivy, Ve?ius charms, 
Ivy courts me to her arms. 
Bacchus, give me love and wine, 
Happiness is only thine! 

Thomas Chatterton. 



A RED, RED ROSE. 

[1794O 

O Mr luve's like a red, red rose, 
That's newly sprung in June; 

O my luve's like the melodie, 
That's sweetly played in tune. 

As fair art thou, my bonnie lass, 

So deep in luve am I; 
And I will luve thee Jlill, my dear, 

Till a" the seas gang dry. 



Till a the seas gang dry, my dear. 

And the rocks melt wi the sun, 
I will lu<ve thee ftill, my dear, 

While the sands o" life Jhall run. 

And fare thee weel, my only luve, 

And fare thee weel awhile ; 
And I will come again, my luve, 

Though it 'were ten thousand mile I 

Robert Burns. 



SONG. 
[I797-] 
Hear, sweet spirit, hear the spell, 
Left a blacker charm compel I 
So Jhall the midnight breezes swell 
With thy deep long-lingering knell. 

And at evening evermore, 

In a chapel on the Jhore, 

Shall the chanter, sad and saintly, 

Tellow tapers burning faintly, 

Doleful majfes chant for thee, 

Miserere Domine ! 

Hark ! the cadence dies away 

On the quiet moonlight sea : 
The boatmen reft their oars and say, 

Miserere Domine I 

Samuel Taylor Coleridge. 



CHORAL SONG. 

[1817.] 

Up, up ! ye dames, ye lajfes gay ! 

To the meadows trip away. 

""Tis you mufl tend, the flocks this morn, 

And scare the small birds from the corn. 

Not a soul at home may flay : 

For the fhepherds mufl go 

With lance and bow 
To hunt the wolf in the woods to-day. 

Leave the hearth and leave the house 
To the cricket and the mouse: 
Find grannam out a sunny seat, 
With babe and lambkin at her feet. 
Not a soul at home may flay : 

For the Jhepherds mufl go 

With lance and bow 
To hunt the wolf in the woods to-day. 

Samuel Taylor Coleridge. 



SONG. 

[1806?] 



There's not a look, a word of thine, 

My soul hath e^er forgot ; 
Thou ne"er haft bid a ringlet (hine, 
Nor given thy locks one graceful twine, 
Which I remember not. 
156 



There never yet a murmur fell 

From that beguiling tongue. 
Which did not, with a lingering swell, 
Upon my charmed senses dwell, 
Like songs from Eden sung. 

Ah, that I could, at once, forget 

All, all that haunts ?ne so ; 
And yet, thou witching girl, and yet, 
To die were sweeter than to let 
Thy loved remembrance go. 

No ; if this flighted heart mujl see 

Its faithful pulse decay, 
O let it die, remembering thee, 
And, like the burnt aroma, be 

Consumed in sweets away ! 



Thomas Moore. 



[1806.] 
O Nightingale! thou surely art 
A creature of a "fiery heart :" 
These notes of thine, they pierce and pierce , 
Tumultuous harmony and fierce I 
Thou Jingfi as if the God of wine 
Had helped thee to a Valentine; 
A song in mockery and despite 
Of jhades, and dews, and fdent night ; 
And fteady bliss, and all the loves 
Now Jleeping in these peaceful groves. :' 



/ heard a Stock-dove fing or say 
His homely tale, this 'very day; 
His 'voice was buried among trees. 
Yet to be come at by the breeze: 
He did not cease ; but cooed, and cooed ; 
And somewhat penjively he wooed: 
He sang of love, with quiet blending, 
Slow to begin, and never ending; 
Of serious faith, and inward glee ; 
That was the song, — the song for me ! 

William Wordsworth. 



TO THE LADY ANNE HAMILTON. 

[1811J 

Too late I flayed — forgive the crime, 

Unheeded flew the hours ; 
How) noiseless falls the foot of Time, 

That only treads on flowers ! 

What eye with clear account remarks 

The ebbing of his glass, 
When all its sands are diamond-sparks, 

That dazzle as they pass ? 

Ah, who to sober measurement 

Timers happy swiftness brings, 

When birds of Paradise have lent " 

Their plumage for his wings ? 

Hon. William Robert Spencer. 
15S 



SONG' 

[1814.] 

Young men will love thee more fair and more faf; 

Heard ye so merry the little bird fing? 
Old mens love the longefl will laf, 

And the throfle-cock 's head is under his wing. 

'The young ma?is wrath is like light ftraw on fire ; 

Heard ye so merry the little bird Jing ? 
But like red-hot feel is the old mans ire, 

And the throfle-cock" s head is under his wing. 

The young man will brawl at the evening board; 

Heard ye so merry the little bird fing? 
But the old man will draw at the dawning the sword, 

And the throfle-cock'' s head is under his wing. 

Sir Walter Scott. 



[1815.] 
IVasTed, weary, wherefore fay, 
Wreftling thus with earth and clay? 
From the body pass away ; 

Hark ! the mass is singing. 

From thee doff thy mortal weed, 
Mary Mother be thy speed, 
Saints to help thee at thy need; 
Hark ! the knell is ringing. 



'59 



Fear not snow-drift driving fafl, 
Sleet, or hail, or levin blaft; 
Soon the Jhroud Jhall lap thee fafl, 
And the Jleep be on thee cajl 

That /hall ne^er know waking. 

Hajh thee, hafte thee, to be gone, 
Earth flits fafl, and time draws on ; 
Gasp thy gasp, and groan thy groan, 
Day is near the breaking. 

Sir V/alter Scott. 



SHE WALKS IN BEAUTY. 

[1814.] 
1. 
She walks in beauty, like the night 

Of cloudless climes and flarry Jkies ; 
And all that \f befl of dark and bright 

Meet in her aspeff and her eyes: 
Thus mellowed to that tender light 
Which heaven to gaudy day denies. 



One fhade the more, one ray the less, 
Had half impaired the nameless grace, 

Which waves in every raven tress 
Or softly lightens o^er her face ; 

When thoughts serenely sweet express 

How pure, how dear their dwelling-place ! 
[So 



And on that cheek, and o'er that brow, 

So soft, so calm, jet eloquent, 
The smiles that win, the tints that glow, 

But tell of days in goodness spent, 
A mind at peace nvith all below, 

A heart whose lo-ve is innocent! 



Lord Byron. 



SONG. 

[iSiy.J 

Think not of it, sweet one, so, 

Give it not a tear; 
Sigh thou mayjl, and bid it go 

Any — anywhere. 

Do not look so sad, sweet one, 

Sad and fadingly ; 
Shed one drop ( and only one | , 

O, 'twas born to die ! 

Still so pale ? then, dearejl, weep, 
Weep, — Fll count the tears ; 

For each I <zvill invent a bliss 
For thee in after years. 

Brighter has it left thine eyes 

Than a sunny rill; 
And thy whispering melodies 

Are more tender jlill. 



Yet, as all things mourn awhile 

At fleeting bliffes, 

Let us too j but be our dirge 

A dirge of kijfes. 

John Keats. 



A FRAGMENT. 

[iSiS.] 

Hence Burgundy, Claret, and Port, 

Away with old Hock and Madeira ,• 
Too earthly are ye for my sport ; 

Here's a be-verage brighter and clearer. 
Inftead of a pitiful rummer, 
My wine overbrims a whole Summer : 

My bowl is the Jky, 

And I drink at my eye, 

Till I feel in the brain 

A Delphian pain, 
Then follow, my Caius, then follow ; 

On the green of the hill 

We will drink our fill 

Of golden sunfhine 

Till our brains intertwine 
With the glory and grace of Apollo ! 

John Keats. 



SONG 

[1819.] 
False frie?id, *wilt thou smile, or weep, 
When my life is laid ajleep? 
Little cares for a smile or a tear 
The clay-cold corpse upon the bier; 

Farewell! Heigh hoi 

What is this whispers low? 
There is a snake in thy smile, my dear, 
And bitter poison within thy tear. 

Sweet Sleep ! were death like to thee, 
Or if thou could/i mortal be, 
I would close these eyes of pain; 
When to wake? Never again. 

O World! farewell ! 

Li flen to the pafjing-bell ! 
It says, thou and I mujl part, 
With a light and a heavy heart. 

Percy Bysshe Shelley. 



LOVE'S PHILOSOPHY. 

[182.0.] 

1. 

The fountains mingle with the river. 

And the rivers with the ocean; 
The winds of heaven mix forever 
With a sweet emotion : 



163 



Nothing in the world is Jingle \ 
All things by a law divine 

In one another's being mingle— 
Why not I with thine? 



See the mountains kiss high heaven, 

And the waves clasp one another 
No fifter flower 'would be forgiven, 

If it disdained its brother : 
And the sunlight clasps the earth, 

And the moonbeams kiss the sea : 
What are all these kiflings worth, 

If thou kiss not me ? 



Percy Bysshe Shelley. 



SONG. 

[Ita.] 

Rarelt, rarely, comefl thou. 

Spirit of Delight ! 
Wherefore hajl thou left me now) 

Many a day and night ? 
Many a weary night and day 
' Tis fince thou art fled away. 

How Jhall ever one like me 
Win thee back again ? 

With the joyous and the free 
Thou wilt scoff at pain. 

164 



Spirit false ! thou haft forgot 
All but those who need thee not. 

As a lizard with the Jhade 

Of a trembling leaf 
Thou nvith sorrow; art dismayed ,• 

Even the fighs of grief 
Reproach thee, that thou art not near, 
And reproach thou wilt not hear. 

Let me set my mournful ditty 

To a merry measure; 
Thou wilt never come for pity. 

Thou wilt come for pleasure : 
Pity then will cut away 
Those cruel wings, and thou wilt ft ay. 

I love all that thou loveft, 

Spirit of Delight ! 
The frejh Earth in new leaves dreft, 

And the ftarry night ; 
Autumn evening, and the morn 
When the golden mifts are born. 

I love snow, and all the forms 

Of the radiant froft ,• 
/ love waves, and winds, and ftorms, 

Every thing almoft 
Which is Nature's, and may be 
Untainted by mans misery. 



i6s 



/ love tranquil solitude, 

And such society 
As is quiet, wise, and good ; 

Between thee and ?ne 
What difference ? but thou do /I poffess 
The things I seek, not love them less. 

I love Love — though he has wings, 

And like light can jlee ; 
But, above all other things, 

Spirit, I love thee: 
Thou art love and life ! O come, 
Make once ?nore my heart thy home. 

Percy Bvsshe Shelley. 



SONG TO MAT. 
[1S20?] 

May! Queen of bloffoms, 
And fulfilling fiowers, 

With what pretty mujic 

Shall we charm the hours ? 

Wilt thou have pipe and reed 

Blown in the open mead? 

Or to the lute give heed 
In the green bowers? 



Thou hajl no need of us, 
Or pipe or wire, 

That haft the golden bee 
Ripened with fire : 



And many thousand more 
Songjhrs, that thee adore, 
Filling Eart/fs graffy floor 
With new defire. 

Thou Iiajl thy ?nighty herds, 

Tame, and free livers ; 
Doubt not, thy mufic too 

In the deep rivers : 
And the whole plu?ny flight 
Warbling the day and night — 
Up at the gates of light, 
See, the lark quivers ! 

When with the jacinth 
Coy fountains are trcffed; 

And for the mournful bird 
Greenwoods are dreffed, 

That did for Tereus pine ; 

Then jball our so?igs be thine, 

To whom our hearts incline : 
May, be thou blefed! 



Lord Thurlow. 



SONG TO THE EVENING STAR 

[I8 M .] 

i. 

STAR that br'mgefl home the bee, 
And settfl the weary labourer free ! 
If any ftar Jhed peace, ^tis thou, 
That sendfl it from above, 
167 



Appearing when Heavens breath and brow 
Are sweet as hers we love. 



Come to the luxuriant Jkies, 
Whiljl the landscape's odours rise, 
Whilfl far-off lowing herds are heard, 

And songs when toil is done, 
From cottages whose smoke unflirred 

Curls yellow in the sun. 

hi. 

Star of lows soft interviews, 
Parted lovers on thee muse; 
Their remembrancer in Heaven 

Of thrilling vows thou art, 
Too delicious to be riven 

By absence from the heart. 

Thomas Campbell. 



SONG. 

[1825.] 
I. 
The swallow leaves her nejl, 
The soul my vjeary breaji ; 
But therefore let the rain 

On my grave 
Fall pure ; for why complain ? 
Since both will come again 
O'er the wave. 



The wind dead leaves and snow- 
Doth hurry to and fro ; 
And, once, a day Jhall break 

O'er the wave, 
When a Jiorm of ghojh Jhall Jhake 
The dead, until they wake 

In the grave. 



Thomas Lovell Beddoes. 



DIRGE. 

[iSzs-J 
If thou wilt ease thy heart 
Of love and all its smart, 
Then Jleep, dear, Jleep ,• 
And not a sorrow 
Hang any tear on your eyelajhes ,• 

Lie flill and deep, 
Sad soul, until the sea-wave wa/hes 
The rim o' the sun to-morrow, 
In eajlern jky. 

But wilt thou cure thy heart 
Of love and all its smart ? 
Then die, dear, die; 
*'Tis deeper, sweeter, 
Than on a rose-bank to lie dreaming 

With folded eye ; 
And then alone, amid the beaming 

Of lovers flars, thou ^lt ?neet Iter 
In eajlern Jky. 

Thomas Lovei.l Beddoes. 



169 



A SONG. 

[ifes-3 
A CYPRESS-BOUGH, and a rose-nxreath s-uceet, 
A ^wedding-robe ; and a nvindiitg-Jheet, 
A bridal-bed and a bier. 
Thine be the kijfes, maid, 

And smiling Love's alarms ; 
And thou, pale youth, be laid 
In the grave" s cold arms. 
Each in his o-ivn charms, 

Death and Hymen both are here; 
So up with scythe and torch, 
And to the old church porch, 
While all the bells ring clear: 
And rosy, rosy the bed Jhall bloom, 
And earthy, earthy heap up the tomb. 

No-iv tremble dimples on your cheek, 
S-zveet be your lips to tafie and speak, 
For he voho kijfes is near: 
By her the bride-god fair, 

In youthful ponder and force ; 
By him the grizard bare, 
Pale knight on a pale horse, 
To vooo him to a corpse. 

Death and Hymen both are here; 
So up with scythe and torch, 
And to the old church porch, 
While all the bells ring clear: 
And rosy, rosy the bed jhall bloom, 
And earthy, earthy heap up the tomb. 

Thomas Lovell Beddoes. 
170 





BALLAD. 




[1826 ?] 




Spring it is cheery ', 




Winter is dreary, 




Green leaves hang, but the brown muft fly ,• 




When he 'j forsaken, 




Withered and Jhaken, 




What can an old man do but die? 




Love ivill not clip him, 




Maids tvill not lip him, 




Maud and Marian pass him by j 




Youth it is sunny, 




Age has no honey : 




What can an old man do but die? 




June it njoas jolly, 




for its folly! 




A danciiig leg and a laughing eye; 




Youth may be filly, 




Wisdom is chilly : 




What can an old man do but die? 




Friends they are scanty, 




Beggars are plenty, 




If he has followers, I kno-tv <zvhy ; 




GohVs in his clutches, 




(Buying him crutches!} 




What can an old man do but die? 




Thomas Hoop. 


I 7 I 





BALLAD. 

[1826?] 

IT was not in the winter 
Our lo-ving. lot was cajl : 
It was the time of roses — 
We plucked them as we pajfed ! 

That churiijh season never frowned 
On early lo-vers yet : 
O, no — the world was newly crowned 
With flowers when we met. 

' Twas twilight, and I bade you go, 

But jiill you held me fajl ; 

It was the time of roses — 

We plucked them as we pajfed ! 



Thomas Hood. 



NEPHON'S SONG. 

[1827.] 

Lady and gentlemen fays, come buy ! 
No peddler has such a rich packet as I. 

Who wants a gown 

Of purple fold. 
Embroidered down 

The seams with gold ? 

See here! — a Tulip richly laced 
To please a royal fairy s tafte ! 
172 



Who wants a cap 

Of crimson grand ? 
By great good hap 
Vve one on hand: 

Look, sir I — a Cock"s-comb, flowering red, 
% Tis juji the thing, sir, for your head! 

Who wants a frock 

Of vejlal hue ? 
Or snowy smock ? 
Fair maid, do you ? 

O me! — a Lady smock so white! 
Tour bosom" s self is not more bright ! 

Who wants to sport 

A fender limb ? 
Vve every sort 
Of hose for him : 

Both scarlet, ftriped, and yellow ones : 
The Woodbine makes such pantaloons! 

Who wants— { hu/h ! hujh ! ) 

A box of paint ? 
"Twill give a blujh, 
Tet leave no taint: 

This Rose with natural rouge is filed, 
From its own dewy leaves diftilled. 

Then lady and gentlemen fays, come buy ! 
Tou never will meet such a merchant as I. 

George Darley. 



i75 



A SERENADE. 

[iS*7.J 
I. 
Awake thee, my Lady-love I 

Wake thee, and rise I 
The sun through the bower peeps 
Into thine eyes ! 

ii. 
Behold how the early lark 

Springs from the corn ! 
Hark, hark how the flower-bird 

Winds her wee horn ! 

in. 
The swallows glad Jhriek is heard 

All through the air I 
The flock-dove is murmuring 

Loud as Jbe dare! 

IV. 

Apollo^s winged bugleman 

Cannot contain, 
But peals his loud trumpet-call 

Once and again ! 



Then wake thee, my Lady-love! 

Bird of my bower ! 

The sweetejl and Jleepiejl 

Bird at this hour! 

George Darley. 



[i8jo: 



Swet,T in her green dell the flower of beauty flumbers, 
Lulled by the faint breez.es Jighing through her hair ; 

Sleeps /he, and hears not the melancholy numbers 
Breathed to my sad lute amid the lonely air! 



Down from the high cliffs the rivulet is teeming, 

To wind round the willow-banks that lure him from above $ 

O that, in tears from my rocky prison ftreaming, 
I, too, could glide to the bower of my love ! 



Ah, when the woodbines with Jleepy arms have wound her, 
Opes Jhe her eyelids at the dream of my lay, 

Lillening, like the dove, while the fountains echo round her, 
To her lojl mate"s call in the forejls far away ! 



Come, then, my bird ! for the peace thou ever bcareft, 

Still Heaven s meffenger of comfort to me j • 
Come ! this fond bosom, my faitJifullejl, my faireft, 

Bleeds with its death-wound — but deeper yet for thee ! 

George Darley. 
i75 



THE CAVALIER'S SONG. 
[18*7.] 
A steed! a JJeed of matchlejfe speede ! 

A s-ivord of metal keene ! 
Al else to noble heartes is droffe, 

Al else on earth is meane. 
The neighynge of the war-horse provide, 

The ro-ivleinge of the drum, 
The clangour of the trumpet loavde, 

Be soundes from heaven that come. 
And, O ! the thundering preffe of knightes, 
When as their war-cry es svjelle, 
May tole from heaven an angel bright, 
And rovose a fiend from hell. 

Then ?nounte ! then moicnte, brave Gallants all, 

And don your helmes amaine ; 
Deathe"s couriers, Fame and Honour, call 

Us to the field againe. 
No (hrevoifh tears Jhal fill our eye, 

If lien the svuord-hilt' 's in our hand; 
Heart-zvhole voe' '11 parte, and no whit Jighe 

For the fayrefi of the land. 
Let piping swaine, and craven wight, 

Thus vceepe and puling crye ; 
Our bufineffe is like men to fighte, 

And, like to Heroes, die! 

William Motherwell. 
176 



SONG. 

[IS}}.] 

She is not fair to outward •■view, 

As many maidens be $ 
Her loveliness I never knew; 

Until Jhe smiled on me : 
O, then I saw her eye was bright, 
A well of love, a spring of light. 

But now her looks are coy and cold y 

To mine they ne'er reply ; 
And yet I cease not to behold 

The love-light in her eye: 
Her very frowns are better far 
Than smiles of other maidens are ! 

Hartley Coleridge. 



SONG. 

[i8} 4 .] 

Down lay in a nook my lady's brdch, 
And said. My feet are sore, 

I cannot follow with the pack 
A-hunting of the boar. 

And though the horn sounds never so clear 
With the hounds in loud uproar, 

Yet I mufl flop and lie down here, 
Because my feet are sore. 



The huntsman when he heard the same, 
What answer did he gi-ve P 

The dog that's lame is much to blame \ 
He is not fit to Hue. 



Hk.nry Taylor. 



THE BLACKBIRD. 

[1835.] 

MORNING. 

Golden bill! Golden bill ! 

Lo, the peep of day j 
All the air is cool and fill, 
From the elm-tree on the hill 

Chant away: 
While the moon drops down the weft, 
Like thy ?nate upon her neft, 
And the Jlars before the sun, 
Melt like snow-fakes, one by one: 
Let thy loud and welcome lay 

Pour along 
Few notes but ftrong. 

E V E N IN G. 

Jet-bright wing ! Jet-bright wing ! 

Flit across the sunset glade; 
Lying there in wait to Jing, 
Lift en with thy head awry, 
Keeping time with twinkling eye, 

While from all the woodland /bade 



17s 



Birds of every plume and note 

Strain the throat, 

Till both hill and valley ring, 

And the warbled minjlrelsy, 

Ebbing, flowing like the sea, 

Claims brief interludes from thee : 

Then, with fimple swell and fall, 

Breaking beautiful through all, 

Let thy Pan-like pipe repeat 

Few) notes but sweet. 

James Montgomery 



A PHANTASY. 

[I8j6.] 

Feed her with the leaves of Love, 
[Love, the rose, that bloffoms here'.) 
Mufic, gently round her move! 
Bind her to the cypress near I 
Weave Iter round and round, 
With Jkeins of filken sound I 
" Tis a little flricken deer, 
Who doth from the hunter fly, 
And comes here to droop, — to die, 
Lgnorant of her wound! 

Soothe her with sad Jiories, 

O poet, till Jhe Jleep ! 

Dreams, come forth with all your g< 

Night, breathe soft and deep! 



Mufic, round her creep ! 

If Jhe fteal anvay to weep, 

Seek her out, — and, when you find her, 

Gentle, gentlejl Mujic, wind her 

Round and round, 

Round and round, 

With your bands of soft eft sound : 

Such as we, at nightfall, hear 

In the wizard foreft near, 

When the charmed Maiden fings 

At the wizard springs! 

Bryan Waller Procter. 



THE FAREWELL OF THE SOLDIER 

[1836.] 

/ love thee, I hue thee, 

Far better than wine; 
But the curse is above me, — 

Though never be mine I 

As the blade wears the scabbard, 

The billow the Jhore, 
So sorrow doth fret me 

For evermore. 



Fair beauty, I leave thee, 
To conquer ?ny heart: 

VII see thee, Ell bless thee, 
And then — depart. 



Let me take, ere I vanijh, 

One look of thine eyes, — 
One smile for remembrance, 

For life soon flies ! 

And now for the fortune 

That hangeth above; 
To bury, in battle, 

My dream of love ! 

Bryan Waller Procter. 



A BRIDAL DIRGE. 

[1836.] 

Weave no more the marriage chain! 

All unmated is the lover; 
Death has taen the place of Pain ; 
Love doth call on Love in vain: 

Life and years of hope are over ! 

No more want of marriage bell ! 

No more need of bridal favour ! 
Where is Jhe to wear them well ? 
You, befide the lover, tell! 

Gone— with all the love he gave her ! 

Paler than the jlone jhe lies, 

Colder than the winter s morning! 

Wherefore did Jhe thus despise 

[She with pity in her eyes) 

Mothers care, and lovers warning? 
(i 



Youth and beauty,— /ball they not 

Lajl beyond a brief to-morrow ? 
No : a prayer, and then forgot ! 
This the true/l lovers lot; 

This the sum of human sorrow ! 

Bryan Walter Proctef. 



A BACCHANALIAN SONG. 

[1836.] 
1. 
Sing ! — Who fings 

To her who weareth a hundred rings? 
Ah, who is this lady fine ? 
The Vine, boys, the Vine I 
The mother of mighty Wine. 
A roamer is jhe 
O'er avail and tree, 
And sometimes very good company. 



Drink! — Who drinks 
To Iter who blujheth and never thinks? 
Ah, who is this maid of thine ? 
The Grape, boys, the Grape I 
O, never let her escape 
Until /be be turned to Wine! 
For better is /he 
Than Vine can be, 
And very, very good company! 
J82 



Dream ! — Who dreams 

Of the God that governs a thousand flreams ? 
Ah, nvho is this Spirit fine P 
"Tis Wine, boys, "'tis Wine! 
God Bacchus, a friend of mine. 
O, better is he 
Than grape or tree, 
And the befl of all good company ! 

Bryan Waller Procter. 



SONG. 
[1841.] 
1. 
You'll love me yet I and I can tarry 
Your love's protracled growing: 
June reared that bunch of flovoers you carry 
From seeds of April's sovoing. 

11. 
/ plant a he artful novj — some seed 
At lea ft is sure to fir ike 
And yield — what you "11 not pluck, indeed, 
Not love, but, may be, like ! 



You'll look at lea/l on Love's remains, 
A grave" s one violet : 
Your look ? that pays a thousand pains. 
What's death? — -you'll love me yet I 

Robert Browning. 



is; 



1 8 4 



SONG. 

[1841.] 

The year's at the Spring, 
And day *j at the morn ; 
Morning 'j at seven $ 
The hill-fide" 's dew-pearled : 
The lark's on the wing ,• 
The snail 's o# M^- /^or# j 
God's in His heaven — 
All's right with the world! 

Robert Browning. 



SONG. 

[1842.] 
The Moth's kiss, firft ! 
Kiss me as if you made believe 
You were not sure, this eve, 
How my face, your flower, had pursed 
Its petals up j so, here and there 
You brujb it, till I grow aware 
Who wants me, and wide open bur ft. 

The Bee's kiss, now ! 

Kiss me as if you entered gay 

My heart at some noonday, 

A bud that dares not disallow 

The claim, so all is rendered up, 

And pajjively its /battered cup 

Over your head to Jleep I bow. 

Robert Browning. 



THE LOST MISTRESS. 

[1845.] 

All's over, then — does truth sound bitter ■, 

As one at firji believes ? 
Hark, ''tis the sparrows' 1 good-night twitter 

About jour cottage eaves ! 

And the leaf-buds on the vine are woolly, 

I noticed that to-day ; 
One day more burjls them open fully 

— You know the red turns gray. 

To-morrow we meet the same then, deareft? 

May I take your hand in mine ? 
Mere friends are we, — well, friends the ?nereft 

Keep much that Vll rejign : 

For each glance of that eye so bright and black, 
Though I keep with heart's endeavour, — 

Tour voice, when you wijh the snow-drops back, 
Though it flays in my soul forever ! 

Robert Browning. 



RONDEAU. 

[1844.] 

Jen nt kijfed me when we met, 

Jumping from the chair Jhe sat in ; 

Time, you thief, who love to get 
Sweets into your lift, put that in : 



18s 



Say Dm weary, say Dm sad, 

Say that health and wealth ha-ue mijfed me, 

Say Vm grooving old, but add, 

Jenny kijfed me. 

Leigh Hunt. 

CUPID SWALLO WED . 

A PARAPHRASE FROM THE ANTHOLOGY. 

[1S44.J 

T'OTHER day, as I was twining 

Roses, for a crown to dine in, 

What, of all things, mid/l the heap 

Should I light on, fajl ajleep, 

But the little desperate elf, 

"The tiny traitor, Love himself! 

By the wings I pinched him up 

Like a bee, and in a cup 

Of my ovine I plunged and sank him, 

And what dye think I did ? — / drank him. 

Faith, I thought him dead. Not he! 

There he Hues with tenfold glee; 

A?id now this moment with his wings 

I feel him tickling my heart-firings. 

Leigh Hunt. 

SONG. 

[1346.] 

One year ago my path was green, 

My footjlep light, ?ny brow serene ; 

Alas ! and could it ha<ve been so 

One year ago F 



There 


is a lo-ve that is to laft 






When the hot days of youth are 


pa ft: 




Such I 


ove did a sweet maid bejhw 






One year ago. 






I took 


a leaflet from her braid 






And gave it to another maid. 






Love ! 


broken Jhould have been 
One year ago. 


thy bo 


IV 




Walter Savage 


Landor. 




-+- 








SONG. 







[1846.] 

/ LOVE to hear that men are bound 
By your enchanting links of sound : 
I lo-ve to hear that none rebel 
Againjl your beauty s filent spell. 
I know not whether I ?nay bear 
To see it all, as well as hear; 
And never flail I clearly know 
Unless you nod and tell me so. 

Walter Savage Landor. 



SONG. 

[1846.] 

LiTTle it inter efls me how 
Some insolent usurper now 

Divides your narrow chair j 



187 



Little heed I whose hand is placed 
{No, nor how far) around your waift, 
Or paddles in your hair. 

A time, a time there may have been 

( Ah ! and there was ) when every scene 

Was brightened by your eyes. 
And dare you ajk what you have done ? 
My answer, take it, is but one — 

The weak have taught the wise. 

Walter Savage Landor. 



SONG. 

[1846.] 

Often have I heard it said 
That her lips are ruby-red. 
Little heed I what they say, 
I have seen as red as they. 
Ere fbe smiled on other men, 
Real rubies were they then. 

When Jhe kijfed me once in play, 
Rubies were less bright than they, 
And less bright were those which Jljone 
In the palace of the Sun. 
Will they be as bright again ? 
Not if kijfed by other men. 

Walter Savage Landor. 



THE AGE OF WISDOM. 

[is 4 6.j 

1. 

Ho, pretty page, with the dimpled chin, 

That newer has known the barber's Jhear, 
All your wi/h is woman to win, 
This is the way that boys begin, — 
Wait till you come to Forty Tear. 



Curly gold locks cower foolijb brains, 

Billing and cooing is all your cheer; 
Sighing and finging of midnight flrains, 
Under Bonny belTs window-panes, — 
Wait till you come to Forty Tear ! 



Forty times over let Michaelmas pass, 

Grizzling hair the brain doth clear — 
Then you kno-iv a boy is an ass, 
Then you know the worth of a lass, 
Once you have come to Forty Tear. 



Pledge ?ne round, I bid ye declare, 

All good fellows whose beards are gray, 
Did not the fairejl of the fair 
Common grow and wearisome ere 
Ever a month was pajl away ? 

.3:; 



The redde/l lips that e-ver have kijfed, 
The brighteji eyes that e-ver have Jbone, 

May pray and whisper, and we not lift, 

Or look away, and never be miffed, 
Ere yet ever a month is gone. 

VI. 

Gillian" s dead, God reft her bier ; 

How I loved her twenty years syne ! 
Marianas married, but I fit here 
Alone and merry at Forty Tear, 

Dipping my nose in the Gascon wine. 

William Makepeace Thackeray. 



SONG. 
[1846.] 
O, THAT we two were Maying 
Down the ftream of the soft Spring breeze j 
Like children with <violets playing 
In the Jhade of the whispering trees. 

O, that we two sat dreaming 

On the sward of some Jheep-trimmed down, 

Watching the white mift fteam'vig 

Over river and mead and town. 

O, that we two lay Jleep'mg 

In our neft in the churchyard sod, 

With our limbs at reft on the quiet Earth's breaft, 

And our souls at home with God! 

Charles Kingsley. 
19c 



SONG. 

[1856. j 

The world goes up, and the 'world goes down, 

And the sunjhine follows the rain : 
And yejierdays sneer and yejierdays frown 

Can never come over again, 
Sweet wife, 

No, never come over again. 

For woman is war?n though man be cdd, 

And the flight will hallow the day ; 
Till the heart which at even was weary and old, 
Can rise in the morning gay, 

Sweet wife, 
To its work in the morning gay. 

Charles Kingslev. 



[184S ?] 

Thy voice is heard through rolling drums, 

That beat to battle where he /lands ; 
Thy face across his fancy comes, 

And gives the battle to his hands : 
A ?nome?it, while the trumpets blow, 

He sees his brood about thy knee; 
The next, like fire he meets the foe, 

And jlrikes him dead for thine and thee. 

Alfred Tennyson. 



[1848?] 

As through the land at eve we went, 

And plucked the ripened ears, 
We fell out, my wife and I, 
O nve fell out, I know not why, 

And kijfed again with tears. 

For -when we came where lies the child 

We loft in other years, 
There above the little grave, 
O there above the little grave, 

We kijfed again with tears. 

Alfred Tennyson. 



[1848?] 

SweeT and low, sweet and low), 

Wind of the weft em sea, 
Low, low, breathe and blow, 

Wind of the weftern sea ! 
Over the rolling waters go, 
Come from the dying moon, and blow. 

Blow him again to me : 
While ?ny little one, while my pretty one, Jleeps. 

Sleep and reft, Jleep and reft, 

Father will come to thee soon; 
Reft, reft, on mother's breaft, 

Father will come to thee soon-, 
192 



Father will come to his babe in the nefi, 
Silver sails ail out of the west 
Under the fiver moon : 
Sleep, my little one, Jleep, my pretty one, Jleep. 

Alfred Tennyson. 



[1850 ?] 

Come not when I am dead, 

To drop thy fooli/h tears upon my grave, 
To trample round ?ny fallen head, 

And vex the unhappy dufl thou wouldjl not save. 
There let the voind sweep, and the plover cry, 
But thou, go by. 

Child, if it vjere thine error or thy crime, 

I care no longer, being all unblefl : 
Wed whom thou wilt, but I am Jick of Time, 

And I dejire to reft. 
Pass on, weak heart, and leave me where I lie: 

Go by, go by. Alfred Tennvson . 



THE SENTENCES. 

[1S56.J 
Thais, my hearths no match for thine: 

Wajle not thy warmth on me ; but go 
Seek out some chillier spirit ; mine 

AJks not another fire, but snow. 



i93 



The lack of lovely pride in her 

Who Jlrives to please, my pleasure numbs ; 
And Jf ill the maid I mojl prefer 

Whose care to please with pleafing comes. 

Coventry Patmore. 



THE REVELATION. 

[1856.] 

An idle Poet, here and there, 

Looks round him, but, for all the refl, 
The voorld, unfathomably fair, 

Is duller than a voitlings jejl. 
Love nvakes men, once a lifetime each ; 

They lift their heavy lids, and look ; 
And lo, vohat one svjeet page can teach 

They read voith joy, then Jhut the book : 
And some give thanks, and some blaspheme, 

And mofl forget ; but, either vjay, 
That and the Child's unheeded dream 

Is all the light of all their day. 

Coventry Patmore. 



194 



INDEX OF IVRITERS 

AND 

PUB LIC A TIONS. 



Ayton, Sir Robert 1570-1638 

Barnefield, Richard 1574-16 — 

Baron, Robert 1630-16 — 

Beaumont, Francis 1 586—1 616 

Beddoes, Thomas Lovell 1803-1849 

Breton, Nicholas 1555-1624 

Brome, Alexander 1 620-1 666 

Browne, William 1 590-1645 

Browning, Robert 1812- 

Buckingham, John Sheffield, Duke of 1645-1720 

Burns, Robert 1759-1796 

Byron, George Gordon Noel 1788-1824 

Campbell, Thomas 1 777-1 844 

Campion, Thomas 1575 ?-i6- 

Carew, Thomas 1 589-1 639 

Cartwright, William 1611-1643 

Chatterton, Thomas 1752-1770 

Coleridge, Hartley 1796-1849 

Coleridge, Samuel Taylor 1772-1834 

Collins, William 1720- 17 59 

Constable, Henry 1568 ?-i6o4? 

Cotton, Charles 1630-1687 

19S 



Cowley, Abraham 1 618-1667 

Cox, Robert 17th Century 

Crashaw, Richard 161 5 ?-i65o? 

Daniel, Samuel 1562-1619 

Darley, George 178 5-1 849 

Davenant, Sir William 1 605-1 668 

Davies, Sir John 1570-1626 

Dekker, Thomas 15 1639 - ? 

Denham, Sir John 1615-1668 

Digges, Leonard 1 588-1 63 5 

Donne, John 1 573-1 631 

Drayton, Michael 1 563—1 631 

Drummond, William 1585-1649 

Drvden, John 1 631-1700 

Duffett, Thomas 17th Century 

Etherege, Sir George i636?-i694? 

Fane, Sir Francis 17th Century 

Fanshaw, Sir Richard 1 607-1 666 

Field, Nathaniel 15 1638 ? 

Flatman, Thomas 1633 ?-i668 

Flecknoe, Richard 17th Century 

Fletcher, Giles 1588 ?-i 623 

Fletcher, John 1 576-1 625 

Ford, John 1 5 8 6-1 640 ? 

Ford, Thomas 17th Century 

Glapthorne, Henry 17th Century 

Goffe, Thomas 1 592-1 627 

GoMERSALL, ROBERT I 6oO— I 646 

Gould, Robert 17th Century 

Greene, Robert 1 560-1 592 

Greville, Fulke, Lord Brooke 1554-1628 

196 



Habington, William 1605— 1654 

Harington, John 1534-1582 

Herbert, George 1 593-1632 

Herrick, Robert 1591-1674 

Heywood, Thomas I58o?-i649? 

Hood, Thomas 1798-1845 

Hookes, N 17th Century 

Howard, Sir Robert 1622— 1698 

Hughes, H 17th Century 

Hunt, Leigh 1784— 1859 

Jonson, Ben 1574-1637 

Keats, John 1795-1821 

Killigrew, Henry 1612-1688? 

Kinaston, Sir Francis 15 1642? 

King, Henry, Bijbop of Chic heft er 1591— 1669 

Kingsley, Charles 1819- 

Lluellin, Martin 17th Century 

Lodge, Thomas 1556-1625 

Lovekin, Philonax 17th Century 

Lovelace, Richard 1 61 8-1 658 

Lyly, John 1554-1600 

Markham, Gervase 17th Century 

Marlowe, Christopher 1562-1593 

Marvell, Andrew 1620— 1678 

Massinger, Philip 1 5 84-1 640 

May, Thomas 1595— 1650 

Milton, John 1608— 1674 

Montgomery, James 1771-1854 

Moore, Thomas 1779-18 52 

Motherwell, William I 797 _I ^35 

197 



Nabbes, Thomas 1612 ?-i645 

Nash, Thomas 1564?-! 601 ? 

Patmore, Coventry 1823- 

Peele, George 1552 ?-i 597 ? 

Pembroke, William Herbert, Earl of 1580-1630 

Pope, Alexander 1688-1744 

Prcr, Mathew 1664-1721 

Procter, Bryan Waller ("Barry Cornwall") i"8~- 

Raleigh, Sir Walter 1552-1618 

Randolph, Thomas 1605-1634 

Rochester, John Wilmot, Earl of 1647-1680 

Rowley, Samuel 17th Century 

Sampson, William 17th Century 

Scott, Sir Walter 1771-1832 

Sedley, Sir Charles 1639-1701 

Shakespeare, William 15 64-1 616 

Shelley, Percy Bysshe 1792— 1822 

Sherburne, Sir Edward 1618-1702 

Shirley, James 1596- 1666 

Sidney, Sir Philip 1554— 1586 

Spencer, Hon. William Robert 1770-1834 

Stanley, Thomas 1625 ?-i678 

Suckling, Sir John 1 608-1 641 ? 

Surrey, Henry Howard, Earl of 1517-1547 

Taylor, Henry... 19th Century 

Tennyson, Alfred 1810- 

Thackeray, William Makepeace 1811-1863 

Thurlow, Edward, Lord , 19th Century 

Vaughan, Henry 1621-1695 

198 



Waller, Edmund 

Walton, Izaak 


1605- 

1593- 
1560- 

15 

1588- 
1770- 
1568- 
*5 3- 


1687 
1683 

16— 
1667 
1850 
1639 

1542 


Watson, Thomas 


Webster, John 


Wither, George 


Wordsworth, William 


Wotton, Sir Henry 


Wyatt, Sir Thomas 


Academy of Compliments. 






Allison's Hour's Recreation in Music 






Bateson's Madrigals. 






Byrd's Songs. 






Davison's Poetical Rhapsody. 






Dowland's Book of Songs. 






Farmer's English Madrigals. 






Morley's Madrigals. 






Musica Transalpina. 






Mysteries of Love and Eloquence. 
Pilkington's Madrigals. 






Sicily and Naples : a Tragedy. 






Ward's Madrigals. 






Weelkes's Airs. 






Weelkes's Ballads. 






Weelkes's Madrigals. 






Wilbye's Madrigals. 






Wit's Recreations. 






i 99 







INDEX OF FIRST LINES. 



A cypress-bough, and a rose-wreath sweet 170 

Adieu ; farewell earth's bliss 19 

All my paft life is mine no more 148 

All's over, then — does truth sound bitter 185 

All the flowers of the Spring 68 

And wilt thou leave me thus >. 1 

An idle Poet, here and there 194 

Art thou poor, yet haft thou golden (lumbers f 38 

As it fell upon a day 36 

Afk me no more where Jove beftows 87 

A fteed ! a fteed of matchleffe speede ! 176 

As through the land at eve we went 192 

Awake thee, my Lady-love ! ... 174 

Away with these self-loving lads 5 

Bid me not go where neither sun nor fliowers 105 

Blow, blow, thou winter wind 1 25 

Bright fhines the sun, play, beggars, play 49 

Call for the robin redbreaft and the wren 67 

Gelia is cruel ; Sylvia, thou 149 

Change me, O Heaven ! into the ruby ftone ( 35 

Cherry-ripe, ripe, ripe, I cry : m 

Chloris, now thou art fled away 1 27 

Choose the darkeft part o 1 th' grove i 50 

Cold winter's ice is fled and gone , -. 47 

Come away, come away, death 28 

Come buy, you lufty gallants 81 

Come, Chloris, hie we to the bower 144 

Come, follow, follow me 132 

Come live with me, and be my love 17 

Come not when I am dead : : 193 

200 



PAGE 

Come, Somnus, with thy potent charms 136 

Come unto these yellow sands 30 

Come, ye young men, come along 121 

Come, you heavy ftates of night 43 

Cupid all his arts did prove 134 

Cupid and my Campaspe played 7 

Cupid, I scorn to beg the art 146 

Dear, do not your fair beauty wrong 119 

Dear life, while I do touch 73 

Diaphenia, like the daffadowndilly 41 

Do not conceal thy radiant eyes 101 

Do not fear to put thy feet 61 

Down lay in a nook my lady's brach 177 

Draw near, you lovers that complain 123 

Drink to-day, and drown all sorrow 63 

Drink to me only with thine eyes 56 

Drop golden fhowers, gentle Sleep 82 

Earth now is green, and heaven is blue 39 

Fair daffodils, we weep to see 114 

Fair Phillis I saw fitting all alone 40 

Fair pledges of a fruitful tree 115 

False friend, wilt thou smile, or weep 163 

Farewell, my sweet, until I come 14 1 

Feed her with the leaves of Love 179 

From all uneasy paffions free 149 

Full fathom five thy father lies 29 

Gather ye rose-buds while ye may 116 

Give Beauty all her right 48 

Give place, ye lovers, here before 2 

Glories, pleasures, pomps, delight, and ease 89 

Golden bill ! Golden bill ! 178 

Go, lovely Rose ! 107 

Good folk, for gold or hire , 78 

Had Sorrow ever fitter place 77 

Happy the man whose wifh and care 151 

201 



PACK 

Happy those early days, when I 120 

Hark, happy lovers, hark 73 

Hark ! hark ! the lark at heaven's gate fings 29 

Hark, how chimes the paffing-bell 10S 

Hark, now every thing is ftill 67 

Have I found her r O rich finding! 65 

Hear, sweet spirit, hear the spell 155 

Hence, all you vain delights 64 

Hence Burgundy, Claret, and Port 162 

Her eyes the glow-worm lend thee 117 

He 's great that mailers his own soul 125 

He that loves a rosy cheek 86 

Hold out, my heart, with joy's delights accloyed 51 

Ho, pretty page, with the dimpled chin 189 

How comes it, Sleep, that thou 74 

How happy is he born and taught 69 

How I laugh at their fond wifh 82 

I dare not aflc a kiss 119 

I do confess thou 'rt smooth and fair 53 

I fear not henceforth death 7 2 

I felt my heart, and found a flame 109 

If thou wilt ease thy heart 169 

If wine and mufic have the power 152 

I in these flowery meads would be 125 

I love thee, I love thee 180 

I love to hear that men are bound 187 

In dew of roses fteeping 43 

In pride of May 35 

In thg merry month of May 15 

I saw fair Chloris walk alone 1 3° 

I saw my lady weep 45 

It was not in the winter I7 2 

Jenny killed me when we met 1S5 

Kiss me, sweet ; the wary lover 57 

Ladies, flee from Love's sweet tale 79 

Ladies, though to your conquering eyes 136 

202 



PAGB 

Lady and gentlemen fays, come buy ! 172, 

Lady, when I behold the roses sprouting 3 3 

Lady, your words do spite me ■,, 

Like as from heaven the dew full softly fhowering 9 



Little it interefts me how. 



187 



Love in my bosom like a bee ! t 

Love is a fickness full of woes 76 

Love is the bloffom where there blows 50 

Love me not for comely grace 34 

May ! Queen of bloffoms 166 

Morpheus, the humble God, that dwells 103 

My love in her attire doth fhow her wit 51 

My thoughts are winged with hopes, my hopes with love 44 

My true love hath my heart, and I have his 5 

Never more will I proteft 71 

Nobleft bodies are but gilded clay 100 

Not, Celia, that I jufler am 14} 

Often have I heard it said iSS 

Oh, no more, no more, too late gg 

O miftress mine, where are you roaming I .. 27 

O my luve's like a red, red rose 1 54 

On a day, (alack the day !) 23 

On a hill there grows a flower 16 

One year ago my path was green 186 

O Nightingale ! thou surely art 157 

O say, dear life, when fhall those twin-born berries 69 

O Sorrow, Sorrow, say where doft thou dwell ? 90 

O flay, sweet love, see here the place of sporting 40 

O, that we two were Maying igo 

Out upon it, I have loved 96 

Over hill, over dale 23 

Pack clouds away, and welcome day 54 

Pan's Syrinx was a girl indeed 8 

Paffions are likened beft to floods and ftreams 1 3 

Phillis, men say that all my vows 142 

Preserve thy fighs, unthrifty girl 139 

203 



PAGK 

Rarely, rarely, comeft thou if>4 

Reach with your whiter hands to me 118 

Rise, lady, miftress, rise ! 78 

Sabrina fair 93 

See the chariot at hand here of Love 5§ 

Shall I, hopeless, then pursue 114 

Shall I tell you whom I love I 74 

Shall I, wafting in despair 65 

She is not fair to outward view 177 

She loves, and fhe confeffes too no 

She walks in beauty, like the night 160 

Sigh no more, ladies, figh no more 26 

Sing!— Who fings 182 

Sitting by a river's fide 21 

Sleep, fleep, mine only jewel 9 

Solitude, of friends the beft 129 

Spring it is cheery 171 

Spring, the sweet Spring, is the year's pleasant King 21 

Star that bringeft home the bee 167 

Stay, bold thoughts, refrain your will 80 

Steer, hither fteer, your winged pines 75 

Still-born Silence, thou that art 1 30 

Still to be neat, ftill to be dreft 56 

Strike again ! O, no, no more 83 

Sweet and low, sweet and low 192 

Sweet day, so cool, so calm, so bright 85 

Sweet Echo, sweeteft nymph, that liv'ft unseen 92 

Sweeteft love, I do not go 31 

Sweet in her green dell the flower of beauty flumbers 175 

Sweet weftern wind, whose luck it is 118 

Take, oh ! take those lips away 2S, 6} 

Tell me no more how fair fhe is 131 

Tell me not of a face that's fair 137 

Tell me not, sweet, I am unkind 105 

Tell me once, dear, how it does prove 135 

Tell me where is fancy bred 24 

Thais, my heart's no match for thine 193 

That which her flender waift confined 106 

204 



PAGE 

The fountains mingle with the river 163 

The glories of our blood and flate 108 

The labouring man that plants and sows 146 

The lark now leaves his watery nefl 140 

The Moth's kiss, firft ! 184 

There is a garden in her face 52 

There is a jewel which no Indian mine can buy 34 

There's not a look, a word of thine 156 

The swallow leaves her nefl 168 

The world goes up, and the world goes down 191 

The year's at the Spring ... 184 

Think not of it, sweet one, so 161 

Thy voice is heard through rolling drums 191 

'Tis late and cold ; ftir up the fire 62 

To fair Fidele's graffy tomb 153 

Too late I flayed — forgive the crime 158 

T' other day, as I was twining 186 

To thy lover 98 

Unclose those eyelids, and outfhine 97 

Under the greenwood tree 25 

Upon a hill the bonny boy 55 

Up, up ! ye dames, ye lafies gay ! 1 56 

Vows are vain. No suppliant breath 91 

Wafted, weary, wherefore flay 1 59 

Waters above, eternal springs 121 

Weave no more the marriage chain ! 181 

We care not for money, riches, or wealth S4 

Weep no more, nor figh, nor groan 61 

What bird so fings, yet so does wail ? 7 

What bufiness calls thee hence, and calls not me 1 128 

What is war, and all its joy s ? 154 

What pleasure have great princes 10 

What fhall become of Man so wise 143 

What thing is love ? for sure love is a thing 17 

What though with figures I fhould raise 97 

Whence comes my love ? O heart, disclose ! 4 

When Love with unconfined wings 103 

205 



PAGfi 

When to her lute Corinna fings 47 

When will the fountain of my tears be dry ? 50 

Where the bee sucks, there suck 1 30 

While Morpheus thus does gently lay 94 

Whither so faft ? Ah, see the kindly flowers 54 

Why are you, ladies, flaying 46 

Why art thou flow, thou reft of trouble, Death S5 

Why do ye weep, sweet babes ? Can tears nj 

Why fhould we murmur, why repine 145 

Why so pale and wan, fond lover ? 95 

With fragrant flowers we ftrew the way 42 

Within this bottle's to be seen 138 

Ye, blufhing virgins, happy are 90 

Ye have been frefh and green I U 

Ye living lamps, by whose dear light 147 

You'll love me yet ! and I can tarry 183 

You meaner beauties of the night 70 

Young men will love thee more fair and more faft 159 

You that think love can convey 88 



THE END. 



206 






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